THE  BROWN  STUDY 

GRACE  •  S  •  RICHMOND 


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THE  BROWN  STUDY 


Books  by  the  Same  Author 


Brotherly  House 

Court  of  Inquiry,  A 

Indifference  of  Juliet,  The 

Mrs.  Red  Pepper 

On  Christmas  Day  in  the  Evenino 

On  Christmas  Day  in  the  Morning 

Red  Pepper  Burns 

Round  the  Corner  in  Gay  Street 

Second  Violin,  The 

Strawberry  Acres 

Twenty-Fourth  of  June 

Under  the  Country  Sky 

With  Juliet  in  England 


"Are  you  tempting  me,  too?  "  he  asked,  with  sudden  fierceness 


The  Brown  Study 


By  GRACE  S.  RICHMOND 


Author  op 

"Red  Pepper  Burns,"  "Mrs.  Red  Pepper," 

"The  Twenty-Fourth  of  June," 

"The  Second  Violin,"  Etc. 


WITH  FRONTISPIECE 
By  HERMAN  PFEIFER 


A.   L.   BURT   COMPANY 
Publisliers  New  York 

Published  by  Arraneements  with  Dottblkdav,  Pagb  and  CoMPAmr 


Copyright,  IQIQ*  hy 
DOUBLEDAY,    PaGE    &   CoMPANY 

All  rights  reserved,  including  that  of 

translation  into  foreign  languages, 

including  the  Scandinavian 


rKINTED  IJJ  THE  UNITED  STATU 

AT 

THE  COUNTRY  LIFE  PRESS,  CARDEN  CVrt,  S.T. 


COmUOBT,   I914,  I9IS,  BT  TBB  CKOWBIX  rUBUSBUO  OOMMSV 


TO 

THE  LIVING  MEMORY 

OF 

EDWARDS  PARK  CLEAVELAND 


22277S4 


CONTENTS 


I.  Brown  Himself       .... 

II.  Brown's  Caller — One  of  Many 

III.  Brown's  Borrowed  Baby  . 

IV.  Brown's  Sister  Sue      .     .     . 
V.  Brown's  Unborrowed  Baby  . 

VI.  Brown's  Persistent  Memory 

"VII.  Brown's  Financial  Resources 

VIII.  Brown's  Bidden  Guests    . 

"^  IX.  Brown's  Unbidden  Guests     . 

X.  Brown's  Answers  to  Questions 

XI.  Brown's  Present  World 

XII.  Brown's  Old  World     . 

XIII.  Brown's  Trial  by  Flood 

XIV.  Brown's  Trial  by  Fire 
XV.  Brown's  Brown  Study 

XVI  Brown's  New  World   . 

The  Time  of  His  Life    . 


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3? 
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164 

181 

* 
199 


THE  BROWN  STUDY 


THE  BROWN  STUDY 


BROWN  HIMSELF 


Brown  was  so  tall  and  thin,  and  his  study  was 
so  low  and  square,  that  the  one  in  the  other 
seemed  a  misfit. 

There  was  not  much  in  the  study.  A  few 
shelves  of  books — not  all  learned  books  by  any 
means — ^three  chairs,  one  of  them  a  rocker 
cushioned  in  a  cheerful  red;  a  battered  old  desk; 
a  broad  and  rather  comfortable  looking  couch: 
this  was  nearly  all  the  study's  furniture.  There 
was  a  fireplace  with  a  crumbHng  old  hearth- 
stone, and  usually  a  roaring  fire  within;  and  a 
chimney-piece  above,  where  stood  a  few  pho- 
tographs and  some  odd-looking  articles  of 
apparently  small  value.    On  the  walls  were 


4  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

two  small  portraits — of  an  elderly  man  and 
woman. 

This  was  absolutely  all  there  was  in  the  room 
worth  mentioning — except  when  Brown  was  in 
it.  Then,  of  course,  there  was  Brown.  This  is 
not  a  truism,  it  is  a  large,  significant  fact.  When 
you  had  once  seen  Brown  in  his  study  you  knew 
that  the  room  would  be  empty  when  he  was  out 
of  it,  no  matter  who  remained.  Not  that 
Brown  was  such  a  big,  broad-shouldered,  dom- 
inating figure  of  a  man.  He  was  so  tall  and 
thin  of  figure  that  he  looked  almost  gaimt,  and 
so  spare  and  dark  of  face  that  he  appeared  almost 
austere.  Yet  when  you  observed  him  closely  he 
did  not  seem  really  austere,  for  out  of  his  eyes, 
of  a  clear,  deep  gray,  looked  not  only  power  but 
sympathy,  and  not  only  patience  but  humour. 
His  mouth  was  clean-cut  and  strong,  and  it 
could  smile  in  a  rather  wonderful  way.  As  to 
the  years  he  had  spent — ^they  might  have  been 
thirty,  or  forty,  or  twenty,  according  to  the  hour 


BROWN  HIMSELF  5 

in  which  one  met  hun.  As  a  matter  of  fact  he 
was,  at  the  beginning  of  this  history,  not  very 
far  along  in  the  thirties,  though  when  that  rather 
wonderful  smile  of  his  was  not  in  evidence  one 
might  have  taken  him  for  somewhat  older. 

I  had  forgotten.  Besides  Brown  when  he  was 
in  the  study  there  was  usually,  also,  Bim.  Also 
long  and  lean,  also  brown,  with  a  rough,  shaggy 
coat  and  the  suggestion  of  collie  blood  about  him 
— ^though  he  was  plainly  a  mixture  of  several 
breeds — Bim  belonged  to  Brown,  and  to  Brown's 
immediate  environment,  whenever  Bim  himself 
was  able  to  accomplish  it.  When  he  was  not 
able  he  was  accustomed  to  wait  patiently  out- 
side the  door  of  Brown's  small  bachelor  abode. 
This  door  opened  directly  from  the  street  into 
the  Brown  Study. 

The  really  curious  thing  about  the  study  was 
that  nobody  in  that  quarter  of  the  big  city  knew 
it  was  a  study.  They  called  the  place  simply 
"Brown^s."    Who  Brown  himself  was  they  did 


6  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

not  know,  either.  He  had  come  to  live  in  the 
little  old  house  about  a  year  ago.  He  was 
dressed  so  plainly,  and  everything  about  him,  in- 
cluding his  manner,  was  of  such  an  unobtrusive 
simplicity,  that  he  attracted  little  attention — at 
first.  Soon  his  immediate  neighbours  were  on 
terms  of  interested  acquaintanceship  with  him, 
though  how  they  got  there  they  could  not  them^ 
selves  have  told — ^it  had  never  occurred  to  them 
to  wonder.  The  thing  had  come  about  naturally, 
somehow.  Presently  others  besides  his  im^ 
mediate  neighbours  knew  Brown,  had  become 
friends  of  Brown.  They  never  wondered  how  it 
had  happened. 

The  Brown  Study  had  many  callers.  It  was 
by  now  thoroughly  used  to  them,  for  it  had  all 
sorts,  every  day  of  the  month,  at  any  hour  of  the 
day,  at  almost  any  hour  of  the  night. 


n 


BROWN'S  CALLER— ONE  OF  MANY 


A  caller  had  just  come  stumbling  in  out  of  the 
November  murk,  half  blind  with  weariness 
and  unhappiness  and  general  discouragement. 
Brown  had  welcomed  him  heartily. 

"It's  nothing  in  particular,"  growled  the 
other  man,  presently,  "  and  it's  everything.  I'm 
down  and  out." 

"Lost  your  job?" 

"No,  but  I'm  going  to  lose  it." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"Everything  points  that  way." 

"What,  for  instance?" 

"Oh — I  can't  tell  you,  so  you'd  understand." 

"Am  I  so  thick-headed?"    Brown  asked  the 
T 


8  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

question  seriously.  His  eyes,  keen,  yet  full  of 
sympathetic  interest,  rested  inquiringly  upon 
his  caller's  face. 

"It's  in  the  air,  that's  all  I  can  say.  I 
wouldn't  be  surprised  to  be  fired  any  minute — 
after  eight  years'  service.  And — it's  got  on  my 
nerves  so  I  can't  do  decent  work,  even  to  keep  up 
my  own  self-respect  till  I  do  go.  And  what  I'm 
to  do  afterward " 

Brown  was  silent,  looking  into  the  fixe.  His 
caller  shifted  in  his  chair;  he  had  shifted  aheady 
a  dozen  times  since  he  sat  down.  His  nervous 
hands  gripped  the  worn  arms  of  the  rocker 
restlessly,  unclosing  only  to  take  fresh  hold, 
until  the  knuckles  shone  white. 

"There's  the  wife,"  said  Brown  presently. 

The  caller  groaned  aloud  in  his  imhappi- 
ness. 

"And  the  kiddies." 

"God!    Yes." 

"I  meant  to  mention  Him,"  said  Brown,  in  a. 


BROWN'S  CALLER— ONE  OF  MANY        9 

j|uietly  matter-of-fact  way.  "I'm  glad  you 
thought  of  Him.    He's  in  this  situation,  too." 

The  caller's  brow  grew  black.  "That's  one 
thing  I  came  to  say  to  you :  I'm  through  with  all 
that.  No  use  to  give  me  any  of  it.  I  don't  be- 
lieve in  it — that's  all." 

Brown  considered  him,  apparently  not  in  the 
least  shocked.  The  caller's  clothes  were  very 
nearly  shabby,  certainly  ill-kept.  His  shoes 
had  not  been  blackened  that  day.  He  needed  a 
hair-cut.  His  sensitive,  thin  face  was  sallow, 
and  there  were  dark  circles  under  his  moody 
eye?. 

Brown  got  up  and  went  out  by  a  door  which 
opened  beside  the  chimney-piece  into  the  room 
behind,  which  was  his  kitchen.  He  stirred 
about  there  for  some  time,  then  he  invited  Jen- 
nings out.  There  were  crisply  fried  bacon  and 
eggs,  and  toast  and  steaming  coffee  ready  for  the 
two  men — Brown's  cookery. 

They  sat  down,  and  Brown  bowed  his  head. 


xo  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

His  companion  did  not  bow  his  but  he  dropped 
his  eyes,  letting  his  glance  rest  upon  the  bacon. 

"Lord"  said  Brown  simply,  "we  ask  Thy 
blessing  on  this  food.  Give  us  food  for  our  souls, 
as  well.     We  need  it.     Amen." 

Then  he  looked  up  at  the  caller.  "Pitch  in, 
Jennings,"  said  he,  and  set  the  example. 

For  a  man  who  professed  to  have  had  his  sup- 
per Jennings  did  pretty  well. 

When  the  meal  was  over  Brown  sent  Jennings 
back  to  the  fireside  while  he  himself  washed  the 
dishes.  When  he  rejoined  his  visitor  Jennings 
looked  up  with  a  sombre  face. 

"Life's  just  what  that  card  a  fellow  tacked  up 
in  the  office  one  day  says  it  is:  — ^one  damned 
thing  after  another,^"  he  asserted  grimly. 
"There's  no  use  trying  to  see  any  good  in  it  aU." 

Brown  looked  up  quickly.  Into  his  eyes 
leaped  a  sudden  look  of  understanding,  and  of 
more  than  understanding — anger  with  some- 
thing, or  some  one.    But  his  voice  was  quiet. 


BROWN'S  CALLER— ONE  OF  MANY       ii 

"So  somebody's  put  that  card  up  in  your 
office,  too.  I  wonder  how  many  of  them  there 
are  tacked  up  in  offices  all  over  the  country." 

"A  good  many,  I  guess." 

"I  suppose  every  time  you  look  up  at  it,  it 
convinces  you  all  over  again,"  remarked  Brown. 
He  picked  up  the  poker,  and  leaning  forward 
began  to  stir  the  fire. 

"I  don't  need  convincing.  I  know  it — IVe 
experienced  it.     God! — IVe  had  reason  to." 

"If  you  don't  believe  in  Him" — ^Brown  was 
poking  vigorously  now — "why  bring  Him  into 
the  conversation?  " 

Jennings  laughed — a  short,  ugly  laugh. 
"That  sounds  like  you,  always  putting  a  fellow 
in  a  comer.    I  use  the  word,  I  suppose,  to " 

"To  give  force  to  what  you  say?  It  does  it, 
in  a  way.  But  it's  not  the  way  you  use  it  when 
you  address  Him,  is  it?" 

"I  don't  address  Ifim."  Jennings's  tone  was 
defiant. 


12  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

Brown  continued  lightly  to  poke  the  fire. 
"About  that  card,"  said  he.  "I've  often  won- 
dered just  how  many  poor  chaps  it's  been  re- 
sponsible for  putting  down  and  out." 

Jennings  stared.  "Oh,  it's  just  a  joke.  I 
laughed  the  first  time  I  saw  it." 

"And  the  second  time?" 

"I  don't  remember.  The  fellows  were  all 
laughing  over  it  when  it  first  came  out." 

"It  was  a  clever  thing,  a  tremendously  clever 
thing,  for  a  man  to  think  of  saying.  There's  so 
much  hmnour  in  it.  To  a  man  who  happened  to 
be  already  feeling  that  way,  one  can  see  just  how 
it  would  cheer  him  up,  give  him  courage,  brace 
him  to  take  a  fresh  hold." 

Jennings  grunted.  "  Oh,  well;  if  you're  going 
to  take  every  joke  with  such  deadly  serious- 
ness  " 

"You  took  it  lightly,  did  you?  It's  seemed 
like  a  real  joke  to  you?  It's  grown  funnier  and 
funnier  every  day,  each  time  it  caught  your  eye?  " 


r  BROWN'S  CALLER-ONE  OF  MANY       13 

But  now  Jennings  groaned.  "No,  it  hasn't. 
But  that's  because  it's  too  true  to  keep  on  seem- 
ing funny." 

Brown  suddenly  brought  his  fist  down  on  the 
arm  of  Jennings's  rocker  with  a  thump  which 
made  his  nerve-strung  visitor  jump  in  his  chair. 
"It  isnH  true!  It's  not  the  saying  of  a  brave 
man,  it's  the  whine  of  a  coward.  Brave  men 
don't  say  that  sort  of  thing.  The  sort  of  thing 
they  do  say — sometimes  to  other  men,  oftener 
to  themselves  alone — is  what  a  famous  English- 
man said :  '  If  you  do  fight,  fight  it  out;  arid  don't 
give  in  while  you  can  stand  and  see  1 '  How's  that 
for  a  motto?  If  that  had  been  tacked  on  the 
wall  in  your  office  all  this  while,  would  it  have 
made  you  feel  like  giving  up,  every  time  you 
looked  at  it?" 

Brown's  eyes  were  glowing.  Jennings  had 
slumped  down  in  his  chair,  his  head  on  his  hand, 
his  face  partly  hidden  from  his  host.  There  was 
silence  in  the  room. 


J4  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

Brown  kept  Jennings  overnight,  making  a  bed 
for  him  on  his  couch,  where  he  could  see  the  fire. 
As  Jennings  sat  on  the  couch,  ready  to  turn  in, 
Brown  came  out  from  his  bedroom,  a  long  figure 
in  his  bathrobe  and  slippers,  and  knelt  down  be- 
fore the  old  rocking-chair.  Jennings,  in  his  sur- 
prise, sat  perfectly  still,  looking  at  him.  He 
could  see  Brown's  lean,  strong  face  in  profile,  the 
fine  head — it  was  a  very  fine  head,  though  per- 
haps Jennings  did  not  appreciate  that — a  little 
lifted,  the  eyes  closed.  Brown  prayed  in  a  con- 
versational tone,  as  if  the  One  he  addressed  were 
in  the  room  above,  with  an  opening  between. 

Then  he  rose,  a  little  tender  smile  on  his  face, 
said,  "Good-night,  old  man,"  and  went  away 
into  the  inner  room — the  door  of  which  he  did 
not  close. 

What  did  he  leave  behind  him?  What  was  in 
the  air?  Was  this  a  common  room,  a  homely 
room,  Hghted  only  by  a  smoldering  fire?  What 
was   it   which   suddenly   and   unaccoxmtably 


BROWN'S  CALLER— ONE  OF  MANY      15 

gripped  George  Jennings's  heart,  so  that  a  sob 
rose  in  his  throat?  What  made  him  want  to  cry, 
like  a  schoolboy,  with  his  head  on  his  arms? 
With  all  his  long  misery,  tears  had  never  once 
come  to  his  relief.  His  heart  had  been  hard  and 
his  eyes  dry.  Now,  somehow,  he  felt  something 
give  way. 

Jennings  slept  all  night,  and  came  out  to 
breakfast  with  a  queer,  shamefaced  aspect,  yet 
with  considerably  less  heaviness  of  foot  than  he 
had  shown  the  night  before.  He  ate  heartily,  as 
well  he  might,  for  the  food  was  extremely 
appetizing.  When  he  got  up  to  go  he  stood  still 
by  his  chair,  seeming  to  be  trying  to  say  some- 
thing. Seeing  this.  Brown  came  over  to  him 
and  put  his  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Yes,  lad?  "  said  he  interrogatively.  He  was 
smiling  and  the  smile  transformed  his  face,  as 
always. 

"I — feel  better,  this  morning,"  stammered 


i6  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

Jennings.  "I — ^want  to  thank  you.  Tm 
ashamed  of  the  way  I  talked  last  night.  It  was 
as  you  said.  I  knew  better,  but  I  couldn't 
seem  to — to " 

Brown  nodded.  "Of  course  you  knew  bet- 
ter," he  said  heartily.  "We  all  know  better. 
Every  man  prays — ^at  some  time  or  other.  It's 
when  we  stop  praying  that  things  get  dark. 
Begin  again,  and  something  happens.  It  al- 
ways happens.  And  sometimes  the  thing  that 
happens  is  that  we  get  a  good  sleep  and  are  able 
to  see  things  differently  in  the  morning.  Good- 
bye— and  come  back  to-night." 

"  Shall  I?  "  Jennings  asked  eagerly. 

"  Surely.  We'll  have  oysters  to-night,  roasted 
on  the  half-shell  over  the  coals  in  the  fireplace. 
Like 'em?" 

"I  never  ate  any  that  way,"  admitted  Jen- 
nings. "It  sounds  good."  And  he  smiled 
broadly,  a  real  smile  at  last. 

"Wait  till  you  try  them,"  promised  Brown. 


m 

BROWN'S  BORROWED  BABY 

On  the  following  Saturday,  at  five  in  the 
afternoon,  the  previous  hours  having  been  filled 
with  a  long  list  of  errands  of  all  sorts,  yet  all 
ha\'ing  to  do  with  people,  and  the  people's  affairs, 
seldom  his  own.  Brown  turned  his  steps  home- 
ward.   The  steps  lagged  a  Httle,  for  he  was  tired. 

At  the  house  next  his  own — a  shabby  little 
house,  yet  with  rows  of  blooming  scarlet  geran- 
iums in  tin  cans  on  its  two  lower  window  sills, 
and  clean,  if  patched,  muslin  curtains  behind  the 
plants — Brown  turned  in  once  more.  Standing 
in  the  kitchen  doorway  he  put  a  question: 

"Mrs.  Kelcey,  may  I  borrow  Norah  for  an 
hour?" 


x8  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

The  person  addressed  looked  up  from  her 
work,  grinned  a  broad  Irish  grin,  pushed  back  a 
lock  of  bothersome  hair  with  a  soapy  hand,  and 
answered  heartily: 

"To  be  shure  ye  may,  Misther  Brown.  I 
says  to  mesilf  an  hour  ago,  I  says,  'Happen  he'll 
come  for  Nory  to-night,  it  bein'  Saturday  night, 
an'  him  bein'  apt  to  come  of  a  Saturday  night/ 
So  I  give  her  her  bath  early,  to  get  her  out  o'  the 
way  before  the  bhoys  come  home.  So  it's  clane 
she  is,  if  she  ain't  got  into  no  mischief  the  half 
hour." 

She  dashed  into  the  next  room  and  returned 
triiunphant,  her  youngest  daughter  on  her  arm. 
Five  minutes  later  Brown  bore  little  Norah 
Kelcey  into  his  bachelor  domain,  wrapped  in  her 
mother's  old  plaid  shawl,  her  blue  eyes  looking 
expectantly  from  its  folds.  It  was  not  the  first 
time  she  had  paid  a  visit  to  the  place — she  re- 
membered what  there  was  in  store  for  her  there. 
She  was  just  two  years  old,  was  Norah,  a  mere 


BROWN'S  BORROWED  BABY  19 

slip  of  an  Irish  baby,  with  a  tangled  mop  of  dark 
curls  above  eyes  of  deep  blue  set  in  bewildering 
lashes,  and  with  a  mouth  like  a  freshly  budded 
rose. 

Brovm  withdrew  the  shawl  and  knelt  on  the 
floor  before  her.  Bim,  who  had  welcomed  the 
two  with  eagerness,  sat  down  beside  them. 

"You  see,  Bim,"  explained  his  master,  "I  had 
to  have  something  human  to  love  for  an  hour  or 
two.  You're  pretty  nearly  human,  I  know,  but 
not  quite.  Norah  is  human — she's  flesh-and- 
blood.  A  fellow  gets  starved  for  the  touch  of 
flesh-and-blood  sometimes,  Bim." 

He  bent  over  the  child.  Then  he  lifted  her 
again  and  bore  her  into  his  bedroom.  Clean  and 
wholesome  she  was  without  question,  but  he  dis- 
liked the  faint  odour  of  laundry  soap  which  hung 
about  her.  Smiling  at  her,  playing  with  her, 
making  a  game  of  it,  he  gently  bathed  the  Httle 
face  and  neck,  the  plmnp  arms  and  hands,  using 
a  clear  toilet  soap  with  a  most  delicate  sugges- 


30  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

tion  of  fragrance.  When  he  brought  her  back 
to  his  fireside  she  was  a  small  honey-pot  for 
sweetness  and  daintiness,  and  fit  for  the  caresses 
she  was  sure  to  get. 

Brown  sat  down  with  her  upon  his  knee.  He 
had  given  her  a  tiny  doll  to  snuggle  in  her  arms, 
and  she  was  quiet  as  a  kitten. 

"Norah,"  said  he,  speaking  softly,  "you  are 
adorable.  Your  eyes  are  the  colour  of  deep-sea 
water  and  they  make  havoc  with  my  heart. 
That  heart,  by  the  way,  is  soft  as  melting  snow 
to-night,  Norah.  It's  longing  for  all  the  oJd 
things,  longing  so  hard  it  aches  Uke  a  bruise. 
It's  done  its  best  to  be  stoical  about  this  exile, 
but  there  are  times  when  stoicism  is  a  failure. 
This  is  one  of  those  times.  Norah  baby,  would 
you  mind  very  much  if  I  kiss  the  back  of  your 
little  neck?" 

Norah  did  not  mind  in  the  least. 

"  All  right,  little  hmnan  creature,"  said  Brown, 
placing  her  upon  the  hearth-rug  to  play  with 


BROWN'S  BORROWED  BABY  21 

Bim's  silky  brown  ears,  "you've  given  me  as 
much  comfort  as  one  of  us  is  likely  to  give  an- 
other, in  a  world  where  everybody  starves  for 
something  he  can't  have,  and  only  God  knows 
what  the  fight  for  self-denial  costs.  Shall  we 
have  supper  now,  Norah  and  Bim?  Milk  for 
Norah,  bones  for  Bim,  meat  for  Donald  Brown 
— and  a  prayer  for  pluck  and  patience  for  us 
all!" 


IV 

BROWN'S  SISTER  SUE 


It  was  a  rainy,  windy,  November  night. 
Brown  and  Bim  were  alone  together — tem- 
porarily. Suddenly,  above  the  howling  of  the 
wind  sounded  sharply  the  clap  of  the  old 
knocker  on  the  door.  Brown  laid  down  his 
book — reluctantly,  for  he  was  human.  A 
woman's  figure,  clad  from  head  to  foot  in  furs, 
sprang  from  the  car  at  the  curb,  ran  across  the 
sidewalk,  and  in  at  the  open  door. 

"Go  back  to  the  hotel  and  come  for  me  at 
twelve,  Simpson,"  she  said  to  her  chauffeur  as 
she  passed  him,  and  the  next  moment  she  was 
inside  the  house  and  had  flung  the  door  heavily 
shut  behind  her. 


33 


BROWN'S  SISTER  SUE  23 

**0  Don!"  she  cried,  and  assailed  the  tall 
figure  before  her  with  a  furry  embrace,  which 
was  returned  with  a  right  good  will. 

"Well,  well,  Sue  girl!  Have  you  driven 
seventy  miles  to  see  me?  "  was  Brown's  response. 
Bim,  circling  madly  around  the  pair,  barked  his 
emotion. 

"Is  this "  began  Brown's  visitor,  glancing 

rapidly  about  her  as  she  released  herself.  "Is 
this "  she  began  again,  and  stopped  help- 
lessly. Then,  "O  Don!"  she  said  once  more, 
and  again,  "O  Don!" — ^and  laughed. 

"  Yes,  1  know,"  said  Brown,  smiling.  "  Here, 
let  me  take  off  your  furs.  It's  pretty  warm  here, 
I  imagine.  Bim  and  I  are  apt  to  keep  a  lot  of 
wood  on  the  fire." 

"Bun?" 

"At  your  feet — and  yom:  service." 

The  lady  looked  at  the  dog,  who  stood  watch- 
ing her. 

"Your  only  companion,  Don?"  she  asked. 


34  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

"My  best  chum.  He's  so  nearly  human  he 
understands  at  this  moment  that  you  don't 
think  him  handsome.  Never  mind!  We're 
used  to  it,  aren't  we,  Bim?  Come  over  and  take 
this  chair.  Sue.  Are  you  cold?  Would  you 
like  something  hot?    Tea — orcofifee?" 

She  sat  in  the  chair  he  drew  to  the  fire  for  her. 
As  he  looked  at  his  sister's  charming,  youthful 
face,  and  saw  her  sitting  there  in  her  handsome 
street  dress  with  its  various  little  indications  of 
wealth  and  fashion — the  gold-meshed  purse  on 
its  slender  chain,  the  rare  jewel  in  the  brooch  at 
the  throat,  the  flashing  rings  on  the  white  hands 
— he  drew  in  his  breath  in  an  incredulous  little 
whistle. 

"Is  it  really  you,  Sis?"  he  said.  "You  look 
pretty  good  to  me,  do  you  know,  sitting  there  in 
my  old  chair!" 

She  glanced  at  the  arm  of  the  old  rocker,  worn 
smooth  by  the  rubbing  of  many  hands. 

"Why  do  you  have  such  a  chair?"  she  an- 


BROWN'S  SISTER  SUE  25 

swered  impatiently — or  so  it  sounded.  "Why 
in  the  world,  if  you  must  live  in  a  hovel  Uke  this, 
don't  you  make  yourself  comfortable?  Send 
home  for  some  easy  chairs,  and  rugs  and  pic- 
tures." Her  eye  wandered  about  the  room. 
"And  a  decent  desk — and — and — sl  well-bred 
dog!" 

He  laughed.  "A  better  bred  dog,  in  one 
sense,  than  Bim  you  couldn't  find.  His  man- 
ners are  finer  than  those  of  most  men.  And  as 
for  this  being  a  hovel,  you  do  it  injustice.  It 
was  built  at  the  beginning  of  the  last  century  by 
a  titled  Englishman,  who  used  it  for  an  office  on 
his  estate.  Look  at  the  big  oak  beams.  Look 
at  the  floor,  the  doors,  the  fireplace.  It's  a 
distinguished  Httle  old  house.  Sue.    Admit  it!" 

She  shook  her  head.  "I'll  admit  nothing, 
except  that  you  are  the  most  eccentric  fellow 
who  ever  Kved,  to  come  off  here  and  stay  all  by 
yourself,  when  you've  been  the  idol  of  a  con- 
gregation like  St.  Timothy's — and  might  still  be 


a6  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

their  idol,  if  you  would  take  just  a  little  more 
assistance  and  not  kill  yourself  with  work.  I Ve 
no  patience  with  you,  Don!" 

He  did  not  reply  to  this.  Instead,  he  asked 
again  gently,  "Shall  it  be  tea  or  coffee.  Sue?" 
He  stood  in  the  doorway  which  led  to  the  kitchen 
and  added,  as  she  hesitated,  that  he  could  give 
her  an  excellent  brand  of  either. 

"  Coffee,  then,"  she  chose,  and  sat  staring  into 
the  fire  until  her  brother  returned  with  his  earth- 
enware pot  and  the  other  essentials  for  the  brew- 
ing of  coffee,  all  set  forth  on  a  small  tray.  When, 
presently,  he  offered  her  a  fragrant  cup,  she 
drank  it  eagerly. 

"That  is  good,"  she  declared.  "I  didn't 
know  you  could  cook.     When  did  you  learn?" 

"  On  my  vacations  in  the  woods.  The  guides 
taught  me.  LaFitte  was  a  wonderful  cook — 
with  certain  limitations.  I've  picked  up  a  few 
other  tricks  as  well.  Would  you  like  something 
to  eat?" 


BROWN'S  SISTER  SUE  ay 

"No,  thank  you." 

She  had  studied  him  with  attention  as  he  knelt 
before  the  fire,  noting  every  detail  of  his  appear- 
ance. She  now  put  a  question  which  she  had 
reserved. 

"Just  how  well  are  you  now?" 

He  looked  up.  "  Don't  I  look  well  enough  to 
satisfy  you?  " 

"I  can't  tell.    You  are  frightfully  thin " 

"I  never  was  an3rthing  else." 

"Do  you  think  this  sort  of  thing  is  doing  as 
much  to  make  you  well  as  Doctor  Brainard's 
prescription  of  a  voyage  and  stay  in  the  South 
Seas?" 

"Much  more." 

"You  must  be  dreadfully  lonely.". 

He  was  sitting,  Turk  fashion,  on  the  hearth- 
rug before  her,  his  long  legs  crossed  beneath  him, 
his  hands  clasping  his  knees.  With  the  fireli^t 
playing  over  his  face  and  touching  the  thrown- 
back  chestnut  locks  uf  his  heavy  hair  with  high 


as  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

Kghts  here  and  there,  he  looked  decidedly  boyish. 
At  her  suggestion  of  his  probable  loneliness  he 
smiled  and  glanced  at  Bim. 

*'Bim,"  said  he,  addressing  a  curled-up  mass 
of  rough  brown  hair  from  which  looked  out  two 
watchful  brown  eyes,  and  which  responded  in- 
stantly to  the  name  by  resolving  itself  into  an 
approaching  dog,  "are  we  ever  lonely?  Rarely, 
Sue.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  we  have  a  good  many 
callers,  first  and  last." 

"What  sort  of  callers?" 

"Neighbours,  and  friends." 

"You  are  in  a  horribly  poor  locality.  I 
noticed  as  I  came  through.  Do  you  mean  that 
you  encourage  these  people  to  come  to  see  you?  " 

"  We  use  all  the  drawing  powers  we  have,  Bim 
and  I." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say,"  said  she,  bending  for- 
ward, "that  you  are  conducting  a  mission — 
here,  in  this  place?  When  you  ought  to  be  just 
trying  to  get  well?    Oh,  what  would  Doctor 


BROWN'S  SISTER  SUE  29 

Brainard  say?"  Her  tone  was  full  of  con- 
sternation. 

Brown  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed,  a  big, 
hearty  laugh  which  did  not  sound  at  aU  like  that 
of  an  invalid. 

"Brainard  seems  to  be  your  special  anxiety,*' 
he  said.  "Send  him  down  to  see  me.  I'll 
make  him  some  flapjacks.  If  there's  any  one 
who  appreciates  good  cookery  it's  Brainard." 

"Don,"  said  his  sister  slowly,  studying  the 
face  before  her,  "what  are  you  trying  to 
do?" 

"Accomplish  a  little  something  while  I'm 
marking  time." 

"  You  ought  to  be  resting ! " 

"I  am.  This  is  child's  play,  compared  with 
the  parish  of  St.  Timothy's.  And  it's  lots  more 
fun!" 

"You're  an  ascetic!" 

"  Never.  No  crusts  and  water  for  me — coffee 
and  flapjacks  every  time.'' 


3©  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

Once  more  she  bent  toward  him.     "You  are 

an  ascetic.    To  live  in  this  place,  and  wear 

What  are  you  wearing?    Old  clothes  and  a 

What  on  earth  is  that  scarf  pin?  A  ten-cent 
piece?" 

He  put  up  his  hand.  "Benson,  the  little  old 
watchmaker  on  the  comer,  gave  me  that.  No, 
it's  not  a  dime.  It  pleases  him  immensely  to  see 
me  wear  it.    It's  not  bad,  Sue.    Nonsense!'* 

"It's  not  good — cheap!" 

He  sat  smiling  up  at  her,  while  she  regarded 
him  in  silence  for  a  minute.  Then  she  broke  out 
again: 

"Why — why  do  you  do  it?  Haven't  you 
worked  hard  enough  in  your  great  parish,  with- 
out allowing  yourself  to  spoil  this  rest  you  so 
much  need?" 

"Sue,"  said  her  brother,  "the  best  cure  for 
certain  kinds  of  overwork  is  merely  more  work, 
only  of  a  different  sort.  I  can't  be  idle  and  con- 
tented.    Can  you?  " 


BROWN'S  SISTER  SUE  gi 

"Idle!  I  should  like  to  be  idle.  I'm  rushed  to 
death,  aH  the  time.    It's  killing  me." 

"  Dressmakers  and  hairdressers — and  dinners 
and  bridge  and  the  whole  routine  of  your  set," 
said  he.  "It  is  indeed  a  hard  life — I  wonder 
you  stand  it." 

"Don't  be  uronic!" 

"  I'm  not  ironic.  I  realized,  long  ago,  that  it's 
the  hardest  life  in  the  world — and  pays  the  least." 

She  flushed.  "I  have  my  charities,"  she  re- 
minded him.  "I'm  not  utterly  useless.  And 
my  clubs — ^belonging  to  them  is  a  duty  I  owe 
other  women.     I  try  to  fulfill  it." 

"But  you're  not  happy." 

"Happy!  I've  forgotten  the  meaning  of  the 
word.  To  tell  the  honest  truth,  Don,  I've  been 
feeling  for  a  long  while  that  I  didn't  care — how 
soon  it  ended." 

"Poor  Kttle  sister!" 

A  crashing  blow  upon  the  door  startled  Mrs. 
Breckenridge  so  that  she  cried  oat  under  her 


34  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

breath.  Brown  went  to  the  door.  A  furious 
gust  of  wind  hurled  it  wide  open  beneath  his 
hand,  but  there  was  no  one  upon  the  doorstep. 
No  one?  At  his  feet  lay  a  bundle,  from  which 
sounded  a  wailing  cry.  He  picked  it  up,  looked 
up  and  down  a  vacant  street,  closed  the  door, 
and  came  back  to  Sue  Breckenridge  by  the  fire. 
*'I  wonder  if  they  chose  the  bachelor's  door- 
step by  chance  or  by  intention,"  he  said. 


BROWN'S  UNBORROWED  BABY 


"Don!  Don't  take  it  in!  They'll  come 
back  for  it  if  you  don't — they're  watching  some- 
where. Put  it  back  on  the  doorstone — don't 
look  at  it!" 

"Why,  Sue!"  he  answered,  and  for  an  instant 
his  eyes  flashed  reproof  into  hers.  "On  such  a 
night?" 

"But  what  can  you  do  with  it?" 

"Make  it  comfortable,  first." 

He  was  unwrapping  the  bundle.  The  child 
was  swathed  none  too  heavily  in  clean  cotton 
comforters;  it  was  cr3dng  frantically,  and  its 
hands,  as  Brown's  encountered  them  in  the  un- 
winding, were  cold  and  blue.    There  emerged 

33 


34  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

from  the  wrappings  an  infant  of  possibly  six 
weeks*  existence  in  a  world  which  had  used  it  ill. 

"Will  you  take  him  while  I  get  some  milk?" 
asked  Brown,  as  naturally  as  if  handing  crying 
babies  over  to  his  sister  were  an  everyday  affair 
with  them  both. 

She  shook  her  head,  backing  away.  "Oh, 
mercy,  no!  I  shouldn't  know  what  to  do  with 
it." 

"Sue!"  Her  brother's  tone  was  suddenly 
stern.  "Don't  be  that  sort  of  woman — don't 
let  me  think  it  of  you!" 

He  continued  to  hold  out  the  small  wailing 
bundle.  She  bit  her  lip,  reluctantly  extended 
unaccustomed  arms,  and  received  the  foundling 
into  them. 

"Sit  down  close  by  the  fire,  my  dear,  and  get 
those  frozen  little  hands  warm.  A  bit  of  mother- 
ing won't  hurt  either  of  you."  And  Brown 
strode  away  into  the  kitchen  with  a  frown  be- 
tween his  brows.    He  was  soon  back  with  a  small 


BROWN'S  UNBORROWED  BABY  35 

cupful  of  warm  milk  and  water,  a  teaspoon,  and 
a  towel. 

"Do  you  expect  to  feed  a  tiny  baby  with  a 
teaspoon?"  Sue  asked  with  scorn. 

"You  don't  know  much  about  babies,  do  you, 
Sue?  Well,  I  may  have  some  trouble,  but  it's 
too  late  to  get  any  other  equipment  from  my 
neighbours,  and  I'll  try  my  luck." 

She  watched  with  amazement  the  proceedings 
vrhich  followed.  Brown  sat  down  with  the  baby 
cradled  on  his  left  arm,  tucked  the  half -unfolded 
towel  beneath  its  chin,  and  with  the  cup  con- 
veniently at  hand  upon  the  table  began  to 
convey  the  milk,  drop  by  drop,  to  the  httle 
mouth. 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  dare  do  it.  You  might 
choke  the  child  to  death." 

"  Not  a  bit.  He'll  swallow  a  lot  of  atmosphere 
and  it  may  give  him  a  pain,  but  that's  bett^ 
than  starving.    Isn't  it,  Baby?" 

"You  act  as  if  you  had  half  a  dozen  of  your 


36  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

own.  What  in  the  world  do  you  know  about 
babies?" 

"Enough  to  puff  me  up  with  pride.  Mrs. 
Murdison,  my  right-hand  neighbour,  is  the 
mother  of  five;  Mrs.  Kelcey,  on  my  left,  has  six 
— and  two  of  them  are  twins.  One  twin  was 
desperately  ill  a  while  ago.  I  became  well 
acquainted  with  it — and  with  the  other  five." 

"Don!"  Again  his  sister  gazed  at  him  as  if 
she  found  him  past  comprehension.  "You — 
you  !  What  would  your  friends — our  friends — 
say,  if  they  knew?  " 

Putting  down  the  teaspoon  and  withdrawing 
the  towel.  Brown  snuggled  the  baby  in  his  left 
arm.  Warmth  and  food  had  begun  their  work 
in  soothing  the  Httle  creature,  and  it  was  quiet, 
its  eyeHds  drooping  heavily. 

He  got  up,  carried  the  baby  to  the  couch, 
with  one  hand  arranged  a  steamer  rug  lying 
there  so  that  it  made  a  warm  nest,  and  laid  the 
small  bundle  in  it. 


BROWN'S  UNBORROWED  BABY  37 

Then  he  returned  to  his  chair  by  the  fire.  He 
lifted  his  eyes  for  a  long,  keen  look  into  his 
sister's  face,  until  she  stirred  restlessly  under 
the  inspection. 

"Well,  what  do  you  see?"  she  asked. 

"I  see,"  said  Brown  slowly,  "a  woman  who  is 
trying  to  Hve  without  remembering  her  im- 
mortahty." 

She  shivered  suddenly,  there  before  the  blaz- 
ing fire.  "  I'm  not  sure  that  I  beUeve  in  it,"  she 
said  fiercely.  "Now  I've  shocked  you,  Don, 
but  I  can't  help  it.  I'm  not  sure  of  anything, 
these  days.    That's  why " 

"Why  you  want  to  forget.  But  you  can't 
forget.  And  the  reason  why  you  can't  forget  is 
because  you  do  believe  in  it.  Every  day  people 
are  trying  to  forget  one  of  the  greatest  facts  in 
the  imiverse.  They  may  deny  it  with  their 
lips,  but  with  their  hearts  they  know  it  is  true." 

She  did  not  answer.  Her  brother  drew  his 
chair  closer,  leaned  forward,  and  took  one  of  the 


38  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

jewelled  hands  in  his.  He  spoke  very  gently,  and 
in  his  voice  was  a  certain  quality  of  persuasion 
which  belongs  not  to  all  voices  which  would  per- 
suade. 

"  Sue,  make  room  in  your  life  for  a  little  child. 
You  need  him." 

Her  glance  evaded  his,  flashed  past  his  to  the 
small,  still  bundle  on  the  couch.  Then,  sud- 
denly, into  her  unhappy  eyes  leaped  a  suspicion. 
She  straightened  in  her  chair. 

"You  don't  mean — ^you're  not  suggesting " 

He  smiled,  comprehending.  "No,  no — noth- 
ing like  that.  Your  heart  isn't  big  enough  for 
that — ^yet.  It*s  the  mothers  of  children  who 
make  room  for  the  waifs,  or  those  who  have  long 
been  mothers  in  heart  and  have  been  de- 
nied. You  don't  belong  to  either  of  those 
classes,  do  you?" 

She  drew  a  stifled  breath.  "You  don't  know 
what  you  are  talking  about,  Don.  How  could 
you,  a  bachelor  like  you?" 


BROWN'S  UNBORROWED  BABY  39 

"Couldn't  I?  Well,  Sue,  if  fathers  may  be 
divided  into  the  same  two  classes,  I  might  be 
found  in  one  of  them." 

She  stared  at  him.  "You?  Oh,  I  can't  be- 
lieve it.  You  could  have  married  long  ago,  if 
you  had  wanted  to.  You  could  have  married 
anybody — simply  anybody!" 

"You  do  me  too  much  honour — or  discredit, 
I'm  not  just  sure  which." 

"  But  it's  true.  With  your  position — and  your 
money!  Rich  and  brilHant  clergymen  aren't  so 
common,  Donald  Brown.  And  your  person- 
ality, your  magnetism!  Men  care  for  you. 
Women  have  always  hung  on  your  words!" 

He  made  a  gesture  of  distaste;  got  up. 

"  Sterility  of  soul  is  a  worse  thing  than  sterility 
of  body,"  said  he.  "  But  sometimes — God  cures 
the  one  when  He  cures  the  other." 

"But  you  never  prescribed  this  strange  thing 
before." 

He  smiled.     "  I've  been  learning  some  things 


40  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

out  here,  Sue,  that  I  never  learned  before.  One 
of  them  is  how  near  God  is  to  a  little  child." 

"You've  learned  that — of  your  neighbours?" 
Her  accent  was  indescribable. 

"Of  my  neighbours — and  friends." 

It  was  time  for  her  to  go.  He  helped  her  into 
her  great  fiu:  coat  and  himself  fastened  it  in 
place.  When  she  was  ready  she  turned  from  the 
window  from  which  she  had  tried  in  vain  to  see 
her  surroundings,  and  threw  at  her  brother  a 
question  which  seemed  to  take  him  imawares. 

"Don,  do  you  know  anything  about  Helena 
these  days?" 

Though  his  face  did  not  change,  something 
about  him  suggested  the  mental  bracing  of  him- 
self for  a  shock.    He  shook  his  head. 

"She's  dropped  everything  she  used  to  care 
for.  Nobody  knows  why.  Her  mother's  in 
despair  about  her — ^you  know  what  a  society 
leader  Mrs.  Forrest  has  always  been.  She  can't 
understand  Helena — nor  can  anybody." 


BROWN'S  UNBORROWED  BABY  41 

"She's  not  m?" 

"Apparently  not;  she's  as  wonderful  to  look 
At  as  ever,  when  one  meets  her — ^which  one  sel- 
dom does.  The  girls  say  she  walks  miles  every 
day,  so  she  must  be  well  in  body,  though  even 
that  doesn't  assure  Mrs.  Forrest.  I  thought,  pos- 
sibly, you  might  know.  You  and  Helena  used 
to  be  such  friends." 

"WearestiU,  Ihope." 

His  sister's  eyes  were  not  easily  to  be  deceived, 
and  they  were  positive  they  saw  pain  in  the  eyes 
which  met  her  o^vn. 

"Don,"  she  said  softly,  "may  I  ask  you  one 
question?  " 

"Please  don't" 

"When  you  were  a  little  boy,  and  you  got 
hurt  in  any  way,  you  used  to  run  away  and  hide. 
Are  you — hiding  now?  " 

His  eyes  grew  dark  with  sudden  anger,  but  he 
repUed  with  self-control: 

"You  will  have  to  think  what  you  like  about 


4a  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

that,  Sue.  If  that  is  the  way  the  thing  looks  to 
you — so  be  it!" 

The  sound  of  the  returning  car  made  Mrs. 
Breckenridge  speak  hurriedly: 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  be  unkind,  Don  boy.  No- 
body knows  better  than  I  that  you  are  no 
coward.  Only — only — ^you  know  an  ascetic 
denies  liimself  things  that  he  needn't.  And — 
you  are  an  ascetic!" 

"Can  I  never  convince  you  of  your  mistake 
about  that?"  he  answered;  and  now  his  lips 
smiled  again,  a  Uttle  stiffly. 

She  embraced  him  once  more,  stopped  to  say 
beseechingly,  "  You  won't  keep  that  baby  here, 
will  you,  Don?"  and,  receiving  his  assmrance 
that  he  would  consult  with  his  neighbours  in  the 
morning  as  to  the  welfare  of  the  foundling,  took 
her  departure. 

Left  alone  Brown  went  back  into  the  quiet 
room.  The  baby  was  stirring  among  its  wrap- 
pings.   Bim,  who  had  roused  himself  to  see  the 


BROWN'S  UNBORROWED  BABY  43 

visitor  ofif,  came  and  poked  his  nose  into  the 
bundle. 

"We  never  know  what's  coming,  Bim,  do 
we?"  asked  Brown  of  his  companion.  "Some- 
times it's  what  we  want,  and  sometimes  not. 
But — ^if  we  are  to  teach  others  we  must  be  taught 
ourselves,  Bim.    And  that's  what's  happening 


now." 


VI 


BROWN'S  PERSISTENT  MEMORY 


"I  wonder,"  he  said  to  himself  an  hour  later, 
"if  it's  any  use  to  go  to  bed  at  all!" 

He  was  walking  the  floor  with  the  baby  in  his 
arms.  Bim,  puzzled  and  anxious,  walked  by  his 
side,  looking  up  at  the  small  bimdle  with  a  glance 
which  seemed  to  say,  "  What  in  the  world  are  we 
going  to  do  with  it?" 

Whether  the  feeding  from  the  teaspoon  had 
disagreed  with  its  digestion  could  not  be  dis- 
covered, but  clearly  the  baby  was  unhappy.  It 
was  quiet  when  walked  with  but  upon  being  put 
down  immediately  set  up  such  an  outcry  that 
the  bachelor,  unaccustomed,  could  not  hsten  to 
it  with  stoicism.    Therefore,  when  he  had  en- 

44 


BROWN'S  PERSISTENT  MEMORY        45 

dured  the  sound  as  long  as  he  could,  he  had  taken 
the  Uttle  visitor  up  and  was  now  walking  with  it, 
himself  in  bathgown  and  slippers. 

"It  may  be  a  pin,  Bim,"  said  he  suddenly. 

He  sat  down  before  the  fire,  laid  the  baby 
upon  its  face  on  his  knees  and  began  cautiously 
to  investigate.  He  loosened  the  tiny  garments 
one  by  one,  imtil  he  had  reached  the  little  body 
and  could  assure  himself  that  no  sharp  point 
was  responsible  for  the  baby's  discomfort.  He 
gently  rubbed  the  small  back,  wondering,  as  he 
did  so,  at  the  insignificant  area  his  hand  nearly 
covered.  Under  this  treatment  the  wailing 
gradually  quieted. 

"Bim,"  said  he  resignedly,  "we  shall  have  to 
sit  up  with  him — for  a  while,  at  least." 

Bim  walked  over  to  the  window. 

"No,"  said  his  master,  "we  can't  disturb  our 
neighbours  at  this  time  of  night.  We  must  see  it 
through.  If  we  can  manage  to  read,  it  will 
make  the  time  go  faster." 


46  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

He  reached  for  a  book,  opened  it  at  a  mark, 
and  began  to  read,  his  hand,  meanwhile,  steadily 
maintaining  the  soothing  motion  up  and  down 
the  baby's  back.  But  his  thoughts  were  not 
upon  the  page.  Instead,  they  took  hold  upon 
one  phrase  his  sister  had  used — one  phrase, 
which  had  brought  up  to  him  a  certain  face  as 
vividly  as  the  sudden  presentation  of  a  portrait 
might  have  done. 

"She^s  as  wonderful  to  look  at  as  ever. " 
Was  she?  Well,  she  had  been  wonderful  to 
look  at — there  could  be  no  question  of  that.  He 
had  looked  at  her,  and  looked,  and  looked 
again,  until  his  eyes  had  blurred  with  the  dazzle 
of  the  vision.  And  having  looked,  there  could 
be  no  possible  forgetting,  no  merciful  blotting 
out  of  the  recollection  of  that  face.  He  had 
tried  to  forget  it,  to  forget  the  whole  absorbing 
personality,  had  tried  with  all  his  strength,  but 
the  thing  could  not  be  done.  It  seemed  to  him 
sometimes  that  the  very  effort  to  efface  that 


BROWN'S  PERSISTENT  MEMORY        47 

image  only  cut  its  outlines  deeper  into  his 
memory. 

The  baby  began  to  cry  afresh,  with  sudden, 
sharp  insistence.  Brown  took  it  up  and  strode 
the  floor  with  it  again. 

"Poor  little  chap!"  he  murmured.  "You 
can*t  have  what  you  want,  and  I  can't  have 
what  I  want.  But  it  doesn't  do  a  bit  of  good  to 
cry  about  it — eh?" 

The  knocker  sounded.    Bim  growled. 

"At  this  hour! "  thought  Brown,  with  a  glance 
at  his  watch  lying  on  the  table.  It  was  nearly 
two  in  the  morning. 

Holding  the  baby  in  the  crook  of  his  arm  he 
crossed  the  floor  and  opened  the  door  gingerly, 
sheltering  the  baby  behind  it. 

"Is  it  the  toothache,  Misther  Brown?"  in- 
quired an  eagerly  pitiful  voice.     "  Or  warse?  " 

Mrs.  Kelcey  came  in,  her  shawl  covering  her 
unboimd  hair — his  next-door  neighbour  and  little 
Norah's  mother.    Her  face  was  full  of  astonish- 


48  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

ment  at  sight  of  Brown  in  his  bathgown  and  the 
baby  in  his  arms. 

"I'm  mighty  glad  to  see  you,"  Brown  assured 
her.  "I  don't  know  what  to  do  with  him,  poor 
little  fellow.    I  think  it  must  be  a  pain." 

' '  The  saints  and  ahl ! ' '  said  Mrs.  Kelcey .  She 
took  the  baby  from  him  with  wonted,  motherly 
arms.  "The  teeny  thing!"  she  exclaimed. 
"Where " 

"Left  on  my  doorstep." 

"An'  ye  thried  to  get  through  the  night  with 
him!    Why  didn't  ye  bring  him  to  me  at  wanst?" 

"  It  was  late — ^your  lights  were  out.  How  did 
you  know  I  was  up?  " 

"Yer  lights  wasn't  out.  I  was  up  with  me 
man — Pat's  a  sore  fut,  an'  I  was  bathin'  it  to 
quiet  him.  I  seen  yer  Hghts.  Ye  sit  up  till 
ahl  hours,  I  know,  but  I  cud  see  the  shadow 
movin'  up  and  down.  I  says  to  Pat,  'He's  the 
toothache,  maybe,  and  me  with  plinty  of  rimi- 
dies  nixt  door.' " 


BROWN'S  PERSISTENT  MEMORY        49 

She  turned  her  attention  to  the  tiny  creature 
in  her  lap.  She  inquired  into  the  case  closely, 
and  learned  how  the  child  had  been  fed  with  a 
teaspoon. 

"To  think  of  a  single  man  so  handy!"  she  ex- 
claimed admiringly.  "  But  maybe  he  shwallied 
a  bit  too  much  air  with  the  feedin'." 

"He swallowed  all  the  air  there  was  at  hand," 
admitted  Brown,  "and  precious  little  milk.  But 
he  seemed  himgry,  and  I  thought  he  was  too 
little  to  go  all  night  without  being  fed." 

"Right  ye  were,  an'  'tis  feedin'  he  nades  agin 
— only  not  with  a  shpoon.  I'll  take  him  home  an' 
fix  up  a  bit  of  a  bottle  for  him,  the  poor  thing. 
An'  I'll  take  him  at  wanst,  an'  let  ye  get  to  bed, 
where  ye  belong,  by  the  looks  of  ye." 

"You're  an  angel,  Mrs.  Kelcey.  I  hate  to 
let  you  take  him,  with  all  you  have  on  your 
hands " 

"  Shure,  'tis  the  hands  that's  full  that  can  al- 
ways hold  a  bit  more.    An'  a  single  man  can't  be 


50  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

bothered  with  cast-off  childher,  no  matter  how 
big  his  heart  is,  as  we  well  know." 

And  Mrs.  Kelcey  departed,  with  the  baby 
under  her  shawl  and  a  motherly  look  for  the  man 
who  opened  the  door  for  her  and  stood  smiling 
at  her  in  the  lampHght  as  she  went  away. 

But  when  he  had  thrown  himself,  at  last,  on 
his  bed,  wearily  longing  for  rest,  he  found  he  had 
still  to  wrestle  a  while  with  the  persistent  image 
of  the  face  which  was  "wonderful  to  look  at," 
before  kindly  slumber  would  efface  it  with  the 
gray  mists  of  obUvion. 


VII 
BROWN'S  FINANCIAL  RESOURCES 

"There,  Tom,  how's  that?  Does  it  droop  as 
much  as  the  one  on  the  other  side?  " 

Tom  Kelcey,  aged  fourteen,  squinted  criti- 
cally at  the  long  festoon  of  ground-pine  be- 
tween tht:  centre  of  the  chimney-breast  and 
the  angle  of  the  dingy  old  oak-beamed  ceiling. 

"Drop  her  a  couple  of  inches,  Misther 
Brown,"  he  suggested.  "No,  not  so  much. 
There,  that's  the  shtuff.  Now  you've  got  her, 
foine  and  dandy." 

Brown  stepped  down  from  the  chair  on  which 
he  had  been  standing,  and  stood  off  with  Tom  to 
view  the  effect. 

"Yes,  that's  exactly  right,"  said  he,  "thanks 

5x 


52  THE  BROWN   STUDY 

to  your  good  eye.    The  room  looks  pretty  weK 
eh?    Quite  like  having  a  dinner  party." 

"It's  ilegant,  Misther  Brown,  that's  what  it 
is,"  said  a  voice  in  the  doorway  behind  them. 
"Tom  bhoy,  be  afther  takin'  the  chair  back  to 
the  kitchen  for  him." 

Mrs.  Kelcey,  mother  of  Tom,  and  next- 
door  neighbour  to  Brown,  advanced  into  the 
room.  She  was  laden  with  a  big  basket, 
which  Brown,  perceiving,  immediately  took 
from  her. 

"Set  it  down  careful,  man,"  said  she.  "The 
crust  on  thim  pies  is  that  delicate  it  won't  bear 
joltin'.  I  had  the  saints'  own  luck  with  'em  this 
toime,  praise  be." 

"  That's  great,"  said  Brown.  "  But  I  haven't 
worried  about  that.  You  never  have  anything 
else,  I'm  sure." 

Mrs.  Kelcey  shook  her  head  in  delighted 
protest. 

"The  table  is  jist  the  handsomest  I  iver  laid 


BROWN'S  FINANCIAL  RESOURCES       53 

eyes  on,"  she  asserted,  modestly  changing  the 
subject. 

"It  is  pretty  nice,  isn't  it?"  agreed  Brown 
warmly,  surveying  the  table  with  mixed  emo- 
tions. When  he  stopped  to  think  of  what  Mrs. 
Hugh  Breckenridge  would  say  at  sight  of  that 
table,  set  for  the  Thanksgiving  dinner  her 
brother,  Donald  Brown,  was  giving  that  after- 
noon, he  experienced  a  peculiar  sensation  in  the 
region  of  his  throat.  He  was  possessed  of  a 
vivid  sense  of  humour  which  at  times  embar- 
rassed him  sorely.  If  it  had  not  been  that  his 
bigness  of  heart  kept  his  love  of  fun  in  order  he 
would  have  had  great  difficulty,  now  and  then, 
in  comporting  himself  with  necessary  gravity. 

Mrs.  Kelcey  herself  had  arranged  that  table, 
spending  almost  the  entire  preceding  day  in 
dashing  about  the  neighbourhood,  borrowing 
from  Brown's  neighbours  the  requisite  articles. 
Brown's  own  stock  of  blue-and- white  ware  prov- 
ing entirely  inadequate,  besides  being  in  Mrs. 


54  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

Kelcey's  eyes  by  no  means  fine  enough  for  the 
occasion,  she  had  unhesitatingly  requisitioned 
every  piece  of  china  she  could  lay  hands  on  in 
the  neighbourhood.  She  had  had  no  difficulty 
whatever  in  borrowing  more  than  enough,  for 
every  woman  in  the  block  who  knew  Brown  was 
eager  to  lend  her  best.  The  result  was  such  an 
array  of  brilliantly  flowered  plates  and  cups  and 
dishes  of  every  style  and  shape,  that  one's  gaze, 
once  riveted  thereon,  could  with  difficulty  be 
removed. 

When  Brown  had  first  conceived  this  festival 
it  had  been  with  the  idea  of  sending  to  the  near- 
est city  for  a  full  equipment,  if  an  inexpensive 
one,  of  all  the  china  and  glass,  linen  and  silver 
necessary  for  the  serving  of  the  meal.  But  upon 
thinking  it  over  it  occurred  to  him  that  such  an 
outlay  would  not  only  arouse  his  new  friends' 
suspicion  of  his  financial  resources,  it  would  de- 
prive them  of  one  of  the  chief  joys  in  such  a 
neighbourhood  as  this  in  which  he  was  abiding — 


BROWN'S  FINANCIAL  RESOURCES       55 

that  of  the  personal  sharing  in  the  details  of  the 
dinner's  preparation  and  the  proud  lending  of 
their  best  in  friendly  rivalry. 

Therefore  the  table,  as  it  now  stood  before  him 
in  all  but  complete  readiness  for  the  feast,  bore 
such  witness  to  the  warmth  of  esteem  in  which 
the  neighbourhood  held  him,  not  to  mention  its 
resourcefulness  in  fitting  together  adjuncts  not 
originally  intended  for  partnership,  as  must  have 
touched  the  heart  of  a  dinner-giver  less  com- 
prehending than  Donald  Brown,  late  of  St 
Timothy's  great  and  prosperous  parish 

To  begin  with,  the  table  itself  had  been  set  up 
in  its  place  in  the  front  room  by  Tim  Lukens  the 
carpenter,  who  when  he  was  sober  was  one  of  the 
cleverest  of  artisans.  Starting  with  two  pairs 
of  sawhorses  and  continuing  with  smooth  pine 
boards,  he  had  constructed  a  table  of  goodly 
proportions  and  of  a  solidity  calculated  to  with- 
stand successfully  the  demand  likely  to  be  made 
I9x>n  it    Over  this  table-top  Mrg^  Kelcey  had 


56  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

laid — ^without  thought,  it  must  be  admitted,  of 
any  intermediary  padding  such  as  certain  mis- 
taken hostesses  consider  essential — three  freshly 
and  painstakingly  laundered  tablecloths,  hei 
own,  Mrs.  Murdison's,  and  Mrs.  Lukens's  best, 
cunningly  united  by  stitches  hardly  discover- 
able except  by  a  too-searching  eye. 

The  foundations  thus  laid,  the  setting  of  the 
table  had  been  a  delightful  task  for  Mrs.  Kelcey, 
assisted  as  she  was  by  Mrs.  Murdison,  who  fre- 
quently differed  from  her  in  points  of  arrange- 
ment but  who  yielded  most  of  them  upon  hear- 
ing, as  she  frequently  did,  Mrs.  Kelcey's  verbal 
badge  of  office:  "Misther  Brown  put  me  in 
charrge,  Missus  Murdison.  He  says  to  me,  he 
says,  'Missus  Kelcey,  do  jist  as  ye  think  best.'" 
Together  the  two  had  achieved  a  triumph,  and 
the  table  now  stood  forth  glowingly  ready  for  its 
sixteen  guests,  from  the  splendid  bunch  of  scar- 
let geraniums  in  an  immense  pink  and  blue  bowl 
with  an  Indian's  head  on  one  side,  to  the  sixteen 


BROWN'S  FIN.\NCIAL  RESOURCES       57 

chairs,  no  two  exactly  alike,  which  had  been  ob- 
tained from  haK  as  many  houses. 

As  for  the  dinner  itself,  there  was  no  patch- 
work about  that.  Brown  himself  had  supphed 
the  essentials,  trusting  that  the  most  of  his 
guests  could  have  no  notion  whatever  of  the 
excessively  high  cost  of  turkeys  that  season,  or  of 
the  price  of  the  especial  quality  of  butter  and 
eggs  which  he  handed  over  to  Mrs.  Kelcey  to  be 
used  in  the  preparation  of  the  dishes  which  he 
and  she  had  decided  upon.  That  lady,  however, 
had  had  some  compunctions  as  she  saw  the  im- 
stinted  array  of  materials  an  astonished  grocer's 
boy  had  deHvered  upon  her  kitchen  table  two 
days  before  the  dinner,  and  had  expressed  her- 
self to  Mrs.  Murdison  as  concerned  lest  Mr. 
Brown  had  spent  more  than  he  could  well 
afford. 

"*Tis  the  big  hearrt  of  him  that  leads  his 
judgment  asthray,"  she  said,  exulting  none  the 
less,  as  she  spoke,  over  the  prospect  of  handling 


S8  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

all  those  rich  materials  and  for  once  having  the 
chance  to  display  her  skilled  cookery.  "I  said 
as  much  as  I  dared,  lest  I  hurrt  his  pride,  but — 
*  'Tis  but  wanct  a  year,  Missus  Kelcey,'  says  he, 
an'  I  said  no  more." 

The  thrifty  Scotswoman  shook  her  head. 
*'The  mon  kens  nae  mair  aboot  the  cost  o* 
things  than  a  cheild,"  said  she.  "But  'twould 
be,  as  ye  say,  a  peety  to  mak'  him  feel  we  dinna 
appreciate  his  thocht  o'  us." 

So  they  had  done  their  best  for  him,  and  the 
result  was  a  wonderful  thing.  To  his  supplies 
they  had  surreptitiously  added  small  delicacies 
of  their  own.  Mrs.  Kelcey  contributed  a  dish 
of  fat  pickles,  luscious  to  the  eye  and  cooling  to 
the  palate.  Mrs.  Murdison  brought  a  jar  of 
marmalade  of  her  own  making — a  rare  delicacy, 
though  the  oranges  were  purchased  of  an 
Italian  vender  who  had  sold  out  an  over-ripe 
stock  at  a  pittance.  Mrs.  Lukens  supplied  a 
plate  of  fat  doughnuts,  and  Mrs.  Burke  sent 


BROWN'S  FINANCIAL  RESOURCES       59 

ov»  a  big  platter  of  molasses  candy.  Thus  the 
people  of  the  neighbourhood  had  come  to  feel  the 
affair  one  to  which  not  only  had  they  been 
l»dden,  but  in  which  they  were  all  in  a  way 
entertainers. 

The  boys  of  the  district,  also,  had  their  share 
m  the  fun.  Though  not  invited  to  the  dinner 
proper,  they  had  been  given  a  hint  that  if  they 
dropped  in  that  evening  after  their  fathers  and 
mothers  had  departed  there  might  be  something 
left — and  what  boys  would  not  rather  "  drop  in  " 
after  that  fashion,  by  the  back  door,  than  go 
decorously  in  at  the  front  one?  So  they  had 
been  eager  to  furnish  decorations  for  the  party, 
according  to  Brown's  suggestion,  by  going  in  a 
body  to  the  woods  three  miles  away  and  bring- 
ing back  a  lavish  supply  of  ground-pine.  They 
had  spent  two  happy  evenings  helping  Brown 
make  this  material  into  ropes,  while  he  told  them 
stories,  and  there  was  not  a  boy  of  them  all  who 
woold  not  cheerfully  have  lent  his  shoulders  to 


6o  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

the  support  of  the  dinner-table  throughout  the 
coming  meal,  if  it  had  suddenly  been  reported 
that  Tim  Lukens's  sawhorses  were  imtrust- 
worthy. 

"Now,  Misther  Brown,  I'll  be  goin*  home  to 
see  to  the  twins  and  get  me  man  to  dhress  him- 
silf,  an'  thin  I'll  be  back.  Have  no  fear — 
av'rythin's  doin'  foine,  an'  the  turrkey's  an 
ilegant  brown  jist  beginnin'  to  show.  If  I'm  not 
back  in  tin  minutes  ye  moight  baste  him  wanct, 
but  have  no  other  care." 

"I'll  be  delighted  to  baste  him,  thank  you," 
Brown  responded.  "  And  I  have  no  cares  at  all, 
with  you  in  charge.  I  only  hope  you  won't  be 
too  tired  to  enjoy  the  dinner.  You've  been 
busy  every  minute  since  dawn." 

"Shure,  'tis  the  labour  of  love  makes  the  worrk 
aisy,"  she  responded,  and  then,  attacked  by  a 
sudden  and  most  unusual  wave  of  shyness,  dis- 
appeared out  of  the  door. 

Brown,  standing  with  his  back  to  the  fire, 


BROWN'S  FINANCIAL  RESOURCES       6r 

smiled  to  himself.  Well  he  knew  that  since 
the  suffering  three-year-old  twin  son  of  the 
Kelceys  had  spent  the  night  in  his  pitiful  arms 
and  in  the  morning  taken  a  turn  for  the  better, 
the  entire  Kelcey  family  would  have  made 
martyrs  of  themselves  for  his  sake.  It  was 
quite  true  that  that  sort  of  thing,  as  his  sister, 
Mrs.  Breckenridge,  had  intimated,  was  not 
precisely  in  accordance  with  the  prescription  of 
Dr.  Bruce  Brainard,  distinguished  speciaUst. 
But  if  that  night  had  been  his  last,  Donald 
Brown  could  not  have  spent  it  in  a  way  more 
calculated  to  give  him  pleasure  as  he  closed 
his  eyes.  Surely,  since  life  was  still  his,  the 
love  of  the  Kelceys  was  not  to  be  despised. 

As  he  dressed  for  the  dinner  Brown  considered 
his  attire  carefully.  He  could  not  venture  to 
wear  anything  calculated  to  outshine  the  ap- 
parel of  his  guests,  and  yet  to  don  the  elbow- 
worn,  shiny-backed  blue  serge  of  his  everyday 
apparel  seemed  not  to  do  them  quite  honour 


62  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

enough.  He  had  not  many  clothes  with  >^"Tf^ 
but  he  had  brought  one  suit  of  rough  homespun, 
smart  indeed  from  the  viewpoiut  of  the  expensive 
tailor  who  had  made  it,  but  deceivingly  im- 
conventional  to  the  eye  of  the  iminitiated  This 
he  put  on,  taking  particular  pains  to  select  a 
very  plain  cravat,  and  to  fasten  in  it  with  care 
the  scarf-pin  bestowed  upon  him  by  old  Benson, 
the  little  watchmaker  on  the  comer  below. 
Through  the  buttonhole  in  the  lapel  of  his  coat 
he  drew  a  spicy-smelling  sprig  of  ground-piae, 
chanting  whimsically  as  he  did  so  a  couplet 
from  Ben  Jonson: 

"  Still  to  be  neat,  still  to  be  drest, 
*  As  you  were  going  to  a  feast." 


vin 

BROWN'S  BIDDEN  GUESTS 

And  now,  promptly  on  the  stroke  of  two,  the 
dinner  guests  arrived,  not  a  man  or  woman  of 
them  later  than  five  minutes  after.  Even  Mrs. 
Kelcey,  though  she  had  rushed  into  the  kitchen 
two  minutes  earlier  by  the  back  door,  now 
entered  formally  with  Patrick,  her  husband,  by 
the  front,  and  only  the  high  flush  on  her  cheek 
and  the  sparkle  in  her  blue-black  eye  told  of  a 
sense  of  her  responsibilities. 

The  company  had  put  on  its  best  for  the 
occasion,  there  could  be  no  possible  question  of 
that.  From  the  pink  geranium  in  Mrs.  Kelcey's 
hair  just  behind  her  ear,  to  the  high  poKsh  of 
her  husband's  boots,  the  Kelceys  were  brave  and 


64  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

fine.  Mrs.  Murdison,  though  soberly  gowned 
in  slate-coloured  worsted,  wore  a  white  muslin 
kerchief  which  gave  her  the  air  of  a  plump  and 
comfortable  Mother  Superior.  Mr.  Murdison, 
the  only  gentleman  present  who  possessed  a 
"suit  of  blacks,"  as  he  himself  was  accustomed 
to  call  it,  came  in  looking  like  the  Scottish 
preacher  whose  grandson  he  was,  and  lent  much 
dignity  to  the  occasion  merely  by  his  presence. 

There  was  a  predominance  of  exquisitely 
ironed  white  "shirtwaists"  among  the  costumes 
of  the  women,  but  as  these  were  helped  out  by 
much  elaborate  and  dressy  neckwear  of  lace 
and  ribbon  the  general  effect  was  unquestionably 
festive.  The  n?en  were  variously  attired  as  to 
clothing,  but  every  collar  was  immaculate — 
most  of  them  had  a  dazzlingly  brilliant  finish — 
and  the  neckties  worn  were  so  varied  as  to  give 
the  eye  relief  from  possible  monotony. 

In  spite  of  Brown's  genial  greetings  to  his 
guests — ^he  had  a  special  welcoming  word  for 


BROWN'S  BIDDEN  GUESTS  65 

every  one — just  at  first  there  was  a  bit  of  stiff- 
ness. The  men  showed  the  customary  tendency 
to  support  one  another  through  the  social  ordeal 
by  standing  in  a  solid  group  in  a  comer  of  the 
room,  hands  behind  their  backs  and  an  air  of 
great  gravity  upon  their  faces,  while  they  spoke, 
if  at  all,  in  low  and  solemn  tones.  The  women,  on 
the  other  hand,  as  ever,  did  their  best  to  show 
themselves  entirely  at  ease  by  addressing,  one 
after  another,  remarks  to  their  host  calculated 
to  prevent  his  having  any  doubt  as  to  the  sort  of 
weather  now  prevailing  outside  or  likely  to  pre- 
vail during  the  days  to  come. 

Brown,  having  anticipated  this  period  of 
gloom  before  the  feast  should  actually  begin, 
had  arranged  with  Mrs.  Kelcey  that  as  soon  as 
the  last  guest  had  arrived  the  company  should 
sit  down  at  the  table.  Mrs.  Kelcey,  true  to  her 
word,  gave  him  the  nod  without  the  delay  of 
more  than  a  minute  or  two,  and  promptly  the 
company  seated  itself.    Brown,  drawing  back 


66  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

her  chair  for  Mrs.  Murdison,  who  as  his  most 
impressive  guest  he  had  placed  upon  his  right, 
noticed,  without  seeming  to  notice,  that  the  little 
watchmaker  did  the  same  for  his  wife,^nd  with 
an  effect  of  habit.  Speaking  of  wives,  the  com- 
pany being  left  to  seat  themselves  according  to 
their  own  notion  (Brown  having  considered  the 
question  of  dinner  cards  and  discarded  it),  every 
man  sat  down  beside  his  own  wife,  in  some  in- 
stances being  surreptitiously  jerked  into  position 
by  a  careful  conjugal  hand. 

Brown,  looking  about  his  table  with  a  smile, 
bent  his  head.  Every  eye  fell  and  every  ear 
listened  to  the  words  which  followed: 

"Our  Fatlier,  we  are  here  in  company  with  Thee 
and  in  warm  friendliness  with  one  another.  We 
are  thankful  on  this  day  thai  we  are  busy  men  and 
women  J  able  to  do  our  work  and  to  be  useful  hi  Thy 
world.  Teach  us  to  find  in  life  the  joy  of  living 
it  to  -please  Thee.    Amen." 

It  was  Mrs.  Kelcey  who  broke  the  hush  which 


BROWN'S  BroDEN  GUESTS  67 

followed,  by  starting  from  her  place  to  run  out 
into  the  kitchen  and  bring  on  the  dinner.  From 
this  moment  the  peculiar  fitness  of  Donald 
Brown  for  the  duties  of  host  showed  itself.  That 
his  dinner  should  be  stiff  and  solemn  was  not  in 
his  intention,  if  the  informahty  of  his  own  con- 
duct could  prevent  it.  He  therefore  jumped  up 
from  his  own  place  to  follow  Mrs.  Kelcey  to  the 
kitchen  and  bring  in  the  great  platter  for  her, 
bearing  the  turkey  in  a  garland  of  celery  leaves, 
a  miracle  of  luscious-looking  brownness. 

He  had  considered  the  feasibility  of  serving  at 
least  one  preliminary  course,  not  so  much  be- 
cause it  seemed  to  him  impossible  to  plunge  at 
once  into  the  heartiness  of  fowl  and  stuffing  as 
because  he  wanted  to  prolong  the  hour  of  dining 
for  his  guests.  But  Mrs.  Kelcey  had  promptly 
vetoed  this  notion. 

"Man,  dear,"  she  had  said  earnestly,  "an* 
why  would  ye  be  shpoiling  the  appetoites  of  yer 
company  with  soup?     'Tis  soup  they  know  only 


68  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

too  well — but  the  turrkey!  'Tis  manny  along 
year  since  Mrs.  Murdison  and  Andy  have  tasted 
the  loike  of  it,  an'  the  same  with  the  ithers.  If 
'twas  chickun,  I'll  warrant  now — ^we're  all  glad 
to  make  a  bit  of  chickun  go  furrther  with  other 

things — but  a  grreat  turrkey  like  this  wan ■ 

Give  it  to  thim  sthrait,  Misther  Brown,  an' 
that's  my  advoice.    Ye  can  take  it  or  lave  it." 

Brown  had  accepted  this  wise  counsel,  of 
course,  and  now  saw  the  full  wisdom  of  it  as  he 
beheld  the  looks  of  veiled  but  hungry — one  might 
almost  have  said  starving — anticipation  which 
fell  upon  the  big  turkey  as  it  was  borne  to  its 
place  at  the  end  of  the  table. 

"  I  don't  know  how  an  old  bachelor  is  going  to 
make  out  to  carve  before  such  a  company," 
Brown  said  gaily,  brandishing  his  carving  knife. 
(This  was  a  bit  of  play-making,  for  he  was  a 
famous  carver,  having  been  something  of  an 
epicure  in  days  but  one  year  past,  and  accus- 
tomed to  demand  and  receive  careful  service  in 


BROWN'S  BIDDEN  GUESTS  69 

his  bachelor  establishment.)  "I  wonder  if  I 
can  manage  it.  Mr.  Benson" — ^he  addressed 
the  old  watchmaker — "what  do  you  say  to  tak- 
ing my  place  and  helping  me  out?  I'd  hate  to 
ruin  the  bird." 

"  I  say  I'll  not  do  it,  Mr.  Brown,"  resporided 
old  Benson.  "  Watch-making  is  my  business, 
and  it's  watch  I'll  make  now  of  your  carving." 

This  brave  attempt  at  a  witticism  brought  a 
fine  response,  Brown's  hearty  laugh  leading  off. 
And  now  the  ice  began  to  be  broken  into  smaller 
and  smaller  bits.  Brown's  gay  spirits,  his  mirth- 
provoking  observations  as  he  carved  the  tender 
fowl,  the  way  in  which  he  appreciated  the  efforts 
of  his  guests  to  do  their  part,  led  them  all  to  for- 
get themselves  in  greater  or  less  degree.  When 
it  came  to  the  actual  attacking  of  the  piled-up 
plates  before  them,  it  is  true  that  there  ensued 
considerable  significant  silence,  but  it  was  the 
silence  of  approval  and  enjoyment,  not  that  of 
failure  to  be  entertained. 


TO  •    THE  BROWN  STUDY 

K  it  occurred  to  Brown  to  wish  himself  at 
same  more  exalted  festival-making  with  more 
congenial  associates  on  this  Thanksgiving  Day, 
BO  one  would  have  dreamed  it.  To  all  appear- 
ances he  was  with  his  best  friends,  and  if  he  did 
not  partake  of  the  toothsome  meal  before  him 
with  such  avidity  as  they,  it  would  have  needed 
a  more  discerning  person  to  have  recognized  it 
than  any  one  who  sat  at  his  board — at  his 
boards,  it  might  be  put,  remembering  Tim 
Lukens's  achievement  with  the  sawhorses. 

Tim,  himself,  was  present,  sober  and  subdued 
but  happy.  How  it  came  about  that  he  had  not 
dnmk  a  drop  for  several  weeks,  none  but  Brown 
and  Mrs.  Lukens  could  have  told.  Tim's  glance 
was  often  upon  Brown's  face — the  look  in  his 
eyes,  now  and  then,  reminded  Brown  of  that  in 
the  eyes  of  his  dog  Bim  when  he  had  earned  his 
master's  approval,  shy  but  adoring. 

In  spite  of  all  there  was  to  eat  in  that  mighty 
first  course  of  turkey  and  stuffing  and  mashed 


BROWN'S  BIDDEN  GUESTS  71 

white  potatoes  and  sirup-browned  sweet  po- 
tatoes, and  every  possible  accompaniment  of 
gravy  and  vegetable  and  relish,  not  to  mention 
such  coffee  as  none  of  them  had  ever  drunk,  it 
all  disappeared  with  astonishing  rapidity  down 
the  throats  of  the  guests.  How,  indeed,  can  one 
mince  and  play  with  his  food  when  he  and  his 
wife  have  not  in  their  Hves  tasted  so  many  good 
things  all  at  once,  and  when  both  have  been  pre- 
pared for  the  feast  by  many  weeks  and  months^ 
and  years — of  Uving  upon  boiled  potatoes  with  a 
bit  of  salt  pork,  or  even  upon  bread  and  molasses, 
when  times  were  hard?  Brown's  neighbours 
were  not  of  the  very  poorest,  by  any  means, 
but  all  were  thriftily  accustomed  to  self-denial, 
and  there  is  no  flavour  to  any  dainty  like  that  of 
having  seldom  tasted  but  of  having  longed  for  it 
all  one's  life. 

When  the  second  course  had  come  and  gone — 
it  was  composed  entirely  of  pies,  but  of  such 
pies! — ^Brown  surprised  Mrs.  Kelcey  by  going  to 


72  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

a  cupboard  and  bringing  out  a  final  treat  un- 
suspected by  her.  A  great  basket  of  fruit, 
oranges  and  bananas  and  grapes,  flanked  by  a 
big  bowl  of  nuts  cunningly  set  with  clusters  of 
raisins,  made  them  all  exclaim.  Happily,  they 
nad  reached  the  exclaiming  stage,  no  longer 
afraid  of  their  host  or  of  one  another. 

"It's  reckless  with  his  money  he  is.  Patsy," 
whispered  Mrs.  Kelcey  to  her  husband.  "It'll 
take  a  power  of  it  to  pay  for  all  o'  thim,  an'  fruit 
so  dear." 

"Whist,  he  knows  what  he's  about,"  returned 
Patrick  Kelcey,  uninclined  to  remonstrate  with 
any  man  for  giving  him  that  unaccustomed  and 
delightful  feeling  that  his  vest  buttons  must  be 
surreptitiously  imloosed  or  he  would  burst  them 
ofif.    He  helped  himself  lavishly  as  he  spoke. 

By  and  by,  when  all  had  regretfully  dedined 
so  much  as  another  raisin — "Now  we  must  have 
some  music!"  cried  Brown.  "Tim,  did  you 
bring  your  fiddle?" 


BROWN'S  BIDDEN  GUESTS  73 

Tim  Lukens  nodded.  Carpentry  was  Tim's 
vocation,  but  fiddling  was  his  avocation  and 
dear  delight.  He  was  presently  fiddling  away, 
while  the  company  sat  about,  completely  re- 
laxed in  spirit,  and  Mrs.  Kelcey  and  Mrs.  Mur- 
dison  hustled  the  table  clear  of  dishes,  refusing 
sternly  Brown's  eager  offer  to  help  them.  And 
now  came  the  best  time  of  all.  Tim  played  all 
the  old  tunes,  and  when  he  struck  into  "  Kate 
Kearney"  the  company  was  electrified  to  hear  a 
rich  and  vibrant  voice  take  up  the  words  of  the 
song  and  sing  them  through  to  the  end. 

Sitting  carelessly  on  his  pine-bottomed  chair 
— ^it  was  one  from  the  Kelcey  house — one  hand 
in  his  pocket,  his  heavy  hair  tossed  back  and 
his  hps  smiling.  Brown's  splendid  tones  rang 
through  the  room  and  held  his  listeners  en- 
thralled. Never  had  they  heard  singing  hke 
that.  They  could  have  no  possible  notion  of  the 
quaUty  of  the  voice  to  which  they  Kstened,  but 
they  enjoyed  its  music  so  thoroughly  that  the 


74  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

moment  the  song  was  ended  they  were  eager  for 
another.  So  he  sang  them  another  and  still  an- 
other, while  the  warm  blood  rolled  in  mider  his 
dark  skin,  enriching  Ms  thin  cheek  tiU  it  looked 
no  longer  thin.  He  was  giving  himself  up  to  the 
task  of  pleasing  his  friends,  with  thorough  enjoy- 
ment of  his  own.  After  "Klate  Kearney"*  he 
sang  "  Aimie  Laurie,"  making  Andy  Murdison's 
warm  Scottish  heart  under  his  stiff  Scottish 
manner  beat  throbbingly  in  sympathy.  So  the 
hours  passed,  it  never  occurring  to  the  company 
to  go  home  as  long  as  it  was  having  the  time  of 
its  life,  until  the  sudden  discovery  of  a  row  of 
boys'  faces  peering  eagerly  in  from  the  darkness 
of  the  late  afternoon  reminded  Mrs.  Kelcey 
that  she  had  a  family  at  home. 

"The  saints  be  prraised,  'tis  afther  darrk," 
said  she,  rising  precipitately,  "and  the  bhoys 
promised  the  lavin's  of  the  table!" 

They  all  followed  her,  suddenly  grown  shy 
again  as  they  murmured  their  thanks.    Their 


BROWN'S  BIDDEN  GUESTS  75 

host's  cheery  parting  words  eased  them  over  this 
ordeal,  however,  and  each  one  left  with  the  com- 
fortable feeling  that  he  had  said  the  right  thing. 

Two  minutes  later  the  house  was  again  in- 
vaded, this  time  by  those  who  felt  entirely  at 
home  there.  With  a  whoop  of  joy  the  boys  of 
the  neighbourhood  took  possession,  and  as  they 
did  so  a  curious  thing  happened:  Donald  Brown 
himself  became  a  boy  among  them. 

But  this  was  not  the  only  curious  thing  which 
happened. 

The  sixteen  guests  at  the  dinner,  in  spite  of 
the  generous  supplies,  had  not  left  many 
"lavin's."  The  great  turkey  had  little  remain- 
ing now  upon  his  bones  and  nothing  at  all  inside 
of  him;  the  potatoes  and  vegetables  had  been 
entirely  consimied;  of  the  pies  there  remained  a 
solitary  wedge.  But  Brown,  smiling  broadly, 
attended  to  these  difficulties.  He  had  the  air  of 
a  commissary  who  knew  of  imlimited  supplies. 

"Tom,"  he  commanded,  "pick  three  boys  and 


^6  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

go  down  cellar  with  them,  and  into  the  little 
storeroom  at  the  right." 

Tom,  grinning,  made  a  hghtning-like  selection 
of  assistants,  and  dove  down  the  steep  and  nar- 
row stairway  from  the  kitchen. 

"Burke  and  Jimpsey,  explore  the  cupboard 
opening  from  my  bedroom,  and  bring  out  what- 
ever you  find  there  that  looks  good  to  eat." 

Before  the  words  were  out  of  his  mouth  Burke 
and  Jimpsey  had  disappeared. 

"Tub  and  Jiggers,  look  under  my  bed,  and 
haul  out  a  long  box  you'll  find  there." 

The  two  fell  over  each  other  to  do  his  bidding. 
In  less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell  it,  the  emissaries 
were  returning  with  their  spoils.  A  whole 
cooked  turkey,  only  slightly  inferior  in  size  to  the 
original  one,  appeared  to  the  accompaniment  of 
howls  of  joy.  It  was  cold,  to  be  sure,  but  what 
boy  would  mind  that — and  to  the  critical  palate 
is  not  cold  turkey  even  more  deUcious  than  hot? 
There  were  piles  and  piles  of  sandwiches  with  the 


BROWN'S  BIDDEN  GUESTS  77 

most  delectable  filling,  there  were  pies  and  more 
pies,  and  there  were  fruit  and  cake  and  candy. 
Brown  had  not  feared  lest  these  later  guests 
suspect  him  of  too  long  a  purse;  he  had  ordered 
without  stint,  and  his  orders  had  been  filled  by  a 
distant  firm  of  caterers  and  sent  by  express. 

Now  there  were  girls  in  the  neighbourhood  as 
well  as  boys.  By  a  mysterious  invitation  they 
had  been  simimoned  to  the  home  of  one  of  their 
number,  a  small  cripple,  and  were  there  at  the 
very  moment  rejoicing  in  all  manner  of  festivi- 
ties. Nobody  knew  how  it  had  happened,  nor 
where  the  good  things  came  from,  except  the  little 
girl  who  was  their  hostess,  and  wild  horses  could 
not  have  dragged  the  wonderful  secret  from  her. 
Brown  himself,  making  merry  with  his  boys,  re- 
membered the  girls  with  a  comfortable  feeling 
at  his  heart  that  for  once,  at  least,  a  goodly 
number  of  people,  young  and  old,  were  happier 
than  they  had  ever  been  before  in  their  lives  on 
Thanksgiving  Day. 


78  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

As  for  his  own  immediate  entertaining  the 
revel  now  began — ^no  lesser  word  describes  it. 
If,  before  the  departure  of  his  dinner  guests, 
Brown  had  experienced  a  slight  feeling  of  fatigue, 
it  disappeared  with  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
his  present  company  disport  themselves.  They 
were  not  in  the  least  afraid  of  him — ^how  should 
they  be,  when  he  had  spent  months  in  the  win- 
ning of  their  confidence  and  affection  by  every 
clever  wile  known  to  the  genuine  boy  lover? 
That  they  respected  him  was  plainly  shown  by 
the  fact  that,  ill  trained  at  home  as  most  of  them 
had  been,  with  him  they  never  overstepped  cer- 
tain bounds.  At  the  lifting  of  a  finger  he  could 
command  their  attention,  though  the  moment 
before  their  boisterousness  had  known  no  limits. 

K  the  earlier  guests  had  been  surprisingly 
rapid  in  their  consumption  of  the  dinner,  these 
later  ones  were  startUngly  so.  Like  grain  be- 
fore a  flock  of  hungry  birds,  like  ice  beneath  a 
bonfire,  the  viands,  lavishly  provided  though 


BROWN'S  BIDDEN  GUESTS  79 

they  had  been,  melted  away  in  ahnost  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye.  And  it  was  precisely  as  the 
last  enormous  mouthful  of  cherry  pie  vanished 
down  Jiggers  Quigg's  happy  throat  that  the  un- 
expected happened. 


rx 

BROWN'S  UNBroDEN  GUESTS 

The  front  door,  opening  directly  into  the 
Hving-room,  with  its  long  table,  and  its  flashing 
j&re  hghting  the  eager  faces  round  it — ^nobody 
had  thought  of  or  bothered  to  make  any  other 
Hght  in  that  room — ^was  flung  open  by  a  fur- 
gloved  hand,  and  a  large  figure  appeared  in  the 
doorway.  A  ruddy  face  looked  in  upon  the 
scene.  This  face  possessed  a  pair  of  keen  gray 
eyes,  a  distinguished  nose,  and  a  determined 
mouth  beneath  a  close-trimmed  moustache 
with  flecks  of  gray  in  it. 

Brown  sprang  up.  "Doctor  Brainard!"  he 
cried  joyfully,  and  came  forward  with  out- 
stretched hand. 

80 


BROWN'S  UNBIDDEN  GUESTS  8i 

The  unexpected  guest  advanced.  Behind 
him  appeared  others.  To  the  dazed  and  gazing 
boys  these  people  might  have  come  from  Green- 
land, so  enveloped  were  they  in  defences  against 
the  cold.  Motor  coats  of  rich  fur,  furry  hats  and 
caps,  floating  silken  veils,  muffs,  rugs — ^wherever 
they  came  from  they  could  not  have  minded 
coming,  sharp  as  was  the  November  air  outside, 
as  the  boys,  who  had  been  hanging  about  the 
the  house  since  the  first  approach  of  twiUght, 
well  knew. 

Dr.  Bruce  Brainard  was  followed  by  two  men 
and  three  women.  In  the  flickering  firehght 
Brown  was  obliged  to  come  close  to  each,  as  in 
smiling  silence  they  approached  him,  before  he 
could  make  sure  whom  the  furs  and  scarfs  en- 
shrouded. 

"Sue!"  he  exclaimed,  discovering  his  sister. 
"And  Hugh  Breckenridge!  This  is  great, 
brother-in-law!  Mrs.  Brainard — can  it  be 
Mrs.  Brainard?    How  kind  of  you!    You  must 


82  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

have  known  how  I've  been  wanting  to  see  you. 
Webb  Atchison,  is  that  you,  looming  behind 
there?  How  are  you,  old  fellow?  But — this 
lady  in  the  veil " 

He  bent  closer  as  he  took  the  gloved  hand  out- 
stretched, but  all  he  could  make  out  in  the 
traitorous  Ught  was  a  pair  of  dark  eyes,  and  lips 
that  must  be  laughing  behind  the  heavy  silken 
veil. 

"Do  I  know  her?"  he  asked,  looking  round 
upon  the  others,  who  were  watching  him. 

"You  have  met  her,"  Hugh  Breckenridge 
assured  him. 

"  Several  times,"  added  Webb  Atchison. 

"But  not  of  late,"  said  Brown,  "  or  else  I " 

"Once  to  have  seen  her,"  declared  Doctor 
Brainard,  "means  never  to  forget." 

"  You  put  me  in  a  hard  place,"  Brown  objected, 
trying  in  vain  to  distinguish  outlines  through  the 
veil.  "She  isn't  going  to  lift  it?  Must  I 
guess?" 


BROWN'S  UNBIDDEN  GUESTS  83 

"Of  course  you  must  guess,  Don,"  cried  his 
sister. 

"  How  can  he?  "  laughed  Breckenridge.  "  He 
knows  90  many  fair  beings  of  about  that  height, 
and  furs  and  veils  are  disguising  things.  With- 
out them,  of  course,  though  she  wore  a  mask,  he 
would  have  no  difficulty." 

"Wni  you  speak  one  word?"  asked  Brown  of 
the  unknown. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Then — forgive  me,  but  I'm  puzzled,"  said  he, 
laying  Hght  but  determined  hold  upon  the  veil. 
"I  can't  imagine  at  all  who — ^would  honour 
me " 

He  gently  lifted  the  veil.  The  others  saw  his 
expression  change  as  the  drawn  folds  revealed  a 
face  whose  dark-eyed  beauty  was  vividly  en- 
hanced by  the  fire-glow  upon  cheeks  which  the 
November  frost  had  stung  into  a  wonder  colour. 
There  was  a  general  laugh  of  appreciation. 

"Never  would  have  thought  it,  eh?  "  chuckled 


84  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

Webb  Atchison,  a  fine  and  prosperous  figure  of  a 
bachelor  past  his  first  youth  but  not  yet  arrived 
at  middle  age,  and  with  the  look  of  one  who  does 
what  he  pleases  with  other  people.  "Well,  it 
wasn't  her  plan,  I  assure  you.  She  was  horror- 
stricken  when  she  learned  where  we  were  bound." 

"Donald  Brown  in  his  bachelor  apartment  in 
the  Worthington  was  one  person,  this  queer  fel- 
low hving  in  a  roadside  cabin  is  quite  another," 
suggested  Dr.  Bruce  Brainard  quizzically.  ' '  Still, 
I'll  warrant  Miss  Forrest  will  confess  to  a  bit  of 
curiosity,  when  she  found  she  was  in  for  it." 

"Were  you  curious?"  asked  Donald  Brown. 
He  was  still  looking  steadily  down  into  the  lifted 
face  of  the  person  before  him.  Into  his  own  face 
had  come  a  look  as  of  one  who  has  been  taken  im- 
awares  at  a  vulnerable  point,  but  who  has  in- 
stantly rallied  his  forces  to  stand  out  the  attack. 

"They  were  all  curious,"  answered  Miss  For- 
rest, and  the  sound  of  her  voice  was  different 
from  that  of  the  other  voices.    If,  as  Doctor 


BROWN'S  UNBIDDEN  GUESTS  85 

Brainard  had  jestingly  but  truthfully  said,  one 
who  had  seen  her  would  not  forget  her,  a  similar 
statement  might  with  equal  truth  be  made  of  the 
hearing  of  her  voice.  The  one  word  Brown  had 
asked  from  her  lips  could  certainly  have  revealed 
her  to  him — and  would  have  done  so  while  he 
had  a  memory. 

"  To  see  if  we  know  how  to  keep  Thanksgiving 
here?"  Brown  inquired  of  the  group,  though  his 
eyes  came  back  again  to  Helena  Forrest's  face. 

"To  see  if  you  had  anything  to  be  thankful 
for,"  cried  Sue  Breckenridge.  "  Well,  Don,  now 
that  we  are  here,  are  you  going  to  invite  us  to 
stay?    Or — is  your  present  company " 

Brown  wheeled  and  went  over  to  the  boys, 
who  were  staring,  open-eyed  and  motionless. 

"You'll  help  me  out,  fellows,  won't  you?"  he 
said  in  a  low  tone — and  they  felt  him  still  one  of 
them,  for  the  tone  was  the  old  one  of  comrade- 
ship. "You  see,  I  have  nowhere  to  ask  my 
guests  to  sit  down.    If  each  of  you  will  take 


M  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

what  you  can  at  a  time,  and  carry  everything  out 
into  the  kitchen,  and  then  take  out  the  table, 
m  be  much  obliged.  You  are  coming  again 
soon,  you  know;  but  for  to-night,  you  see,  I  must 
call  it  off.  Tom,  you'll  see  to  taking  off  the 
tablecloth,  will  you?  Fold  it  up  any  sort  of 
way,  but  don't  let  the  crumbs  get  out.  All 
right?" 

There  -was  a  tumultuous  pushing  back  of 
chairs.  In  short  order  it  was  all  accomplished. 
The  guests  stood  at  one  side,  looking  at  the  boya 
as  curiously  as  the  boys  had  looked  at  them, 
while  the  dishes  disappeared  as  fast  as  many 
hands  could  carry  them.  The  big  bowl  of  gera- 
niiuns  was  removed  by  Brown  himself,  who 
set  it  carefully  upon  his  reading-table  at  the 
side  of  the  room,  and  the  tablecloth  was  pains- 
takingly manipulated  by  Tom  Kelcey  so  that 
hardly  a  crumb  fell  upon  the  floor.  There  was 
one  crash  of  crockery  in  the  kitchen,  followed 
by  a  smothered  howl  from  the  boy  who  in  his 


BROWN'S  UNBIDDEN  GUESTS  87 

agitation  had  done  the  deed,  but  this  was  the 
only  accident. 

Brown  turned  again  to  his  guests. 

"Now,"  said  he,  "will  you  make  yourselves 
at  home?  It's  a  cold  night  out.  Let's  have  off 
the  furs  and  sit  by  the  fire.  Mrs.  Brainard, 
allow  me  to  help  you  out  of  that  coat.  This  is 
the  happiest  sort  of  a  surprise  for  mcl" 


X 


BROWN'S  ANSWERS  TO  QUESTIONS 

Donald  Brown  stood  at  the  end  of  his  hearth, 
his  elbow  resting  on  the  chimney-piece,  his  eyes, 
narrowed  a  little  between  the  lashes,  intently  re- 
garding these  latest  guests  of  his.  He  was  in 
the  shadow,  they  were  in  the  strong  Ught  of  the 
fire.  A  great  lump  of  cannel  coal,  recently  laid 
upon  the  red-hot  embers  and  half-burned  logs  of 
the  afternoon  fire,  had  just  broken  apart  with  a 
great  hissing  and  crackling  of  the  pitchy  richness 
of  its  inner  formation,  and  the  resultant  glow  of 
rosy  hght  which  enveloped  the  figures  before  the 
hearth,  against  the  duller  background  of  the 
room,  otherwise  unillumined,  made  them  stand 
out  like  figures  in  a  cleverly  hghted  tableau. 

88 


BROWN'S  ANSWERS  TO  QUESTIONS      89 

They  were  much  more  interesting  to  Brown, 
however,  than  anything  he  had  ever  seen  in  tu2 
set  and  artificial  radiance  of  the  calcium  light. 
He  knew  well  every  face  there,  and  yet,  after  his 
year's  exile  and  in  contrast  to  the  faces  at  which 
he  had  been  lately  looking,  they  formed  a  more 
engrossing  study  than  any  he  had  known  for 
many  months. 

In  the  centre  of  the  circle,  in  Brown's  old  red- 
cushioned  rocker  and  most  comfortable  chair, 
sat  Mrs.  Brainard,  the  exquisitely  sophisticated 
wife  of  the  distinguished  speciaHst  close  by. 
Her  graceful  head,  with  its  slight  and  becoming 
touches  of  gray  at  the  temples,  rested  like  a  fine 
cameo  against  the  warm  hue  of  the  cushion. 
Her  brilliant  eyes  reflected  the  dancing  firelight; 
her  shapely  hands,  jewelled  like  Mrs.  Brecken- 
ridge's,  but  after  an  even  more  rare  and  per- 
fectly chosen  fashion,  lay  in  her  silken  lap.  As 
his  glance  fell  upon  these  hands  some  whimsical 
thought  brought  to  Brown's  mind  Mrs.  Kelcey's 


90  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

red,  work-roughened  ones.  He  wondered  if  by 
any  chance  the  two  hands  would  ever  meet,  and 
whether  Mrs.  Brainard's  would  shrink  from  the 
contact,  or  meet  it  as  that  of  a  sister,  "  under  the 
skin." 

Near  her  his  sister  Sue's  dainty  elegance  of 
person  fehowed  like  a  flower  against  the  big 
figure  of  Doctor  Brainard,  who  sat  at  her  elbow. 
Brainard  himself,  with  his  splendid  head  and 
erect  carriage,  was  always  an  imposing  person- 
age; he  had  never  seemed  more  so  than  now, 
with  the  face  of  Patrick  Kelcey,  Andrew  Murdi- 
son,  and  James  Benson,  the  httle  watchmaker,  in 
the  background  of  Brown's  mind  with  which  to 
contrast  it.  Beyond  Mrs.  Brainard  lounged 
Hugh  Breckenridge — as  nearly  as  one  could  be 
said  to  lounge — ^in  a  plain,  cane-seated  chair 
without  arms. 

At  one  side  of  the  group  was  Webb  Atchison, 
the  rich  bachelor  of  the  party  where  all  were 
possessed  of  wealth  m  plenty.    Next  Atchison 


BROWN'S  ANSWERS  TO  QUESTIONS      91 

sat  Mi96  Helena  Forrest,  the  one  member  of  the 
company  who  had  not  known  where  she  was 
going  until  well  upon  her  way  there.  Upon  her 
the  glance  of  the  man  standing  by  the  chimney- 
piece  fell  least  often,  yet  there  was  no  person 
present  of  whom  he  was  so  imranittingly  con- 
scious. It  may  be  said  that  from  the  moment 
that  he  had  lifted  her  veil  in  his  puzzled  search 
for  her  identity,  he  had  been  conscious  of  little 
else. 

There  was  not  a  single  movement  of  Miss 
Forrest's  hands — and  she  had  certain  little  de- 
lightful, highly  characteristic  ways  of  helping  out 
her  speech  with  slight  yet  significant  motions — 
but  had  its  place  in  Brown's  memory.  She  was 
not  a  frequent  talker,  she  did  not  speak  one  word 
to  Sue  Breckenridge's  fifty;  but  when  she  did 
speak,  in  her  voice  of  slow  music,  people  listened. 
And  yet  one  never  thought  of  her,  Brown  re- 
membered, as  a  silent  person;  the  effect  of  her 
presMice  in  any  circle  was  that  of  a  personality 


92  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

of  the  active,  not  the  passive,  sort.  The  eyes  of 
one  speaking  must,  involuntarily,  be  drawn  to 
her  because  she  was  listening,  if  I  may  coin  a 
phrase,  vividly.  As  for  her  looks — she  pos- 
sessed that  indescribable  charm  which  is  not 
wholly  a  matter  of  beautiful  features,  but  lies 
rather  in  such  details  as  the  lift  of  the  eyebrow, 
the  curve  of  the  Hp,  the  droop  of  the  hair  upon 
the  brow.  She  was  dressed  much  more  simply 
than  either  of  the  older  women  present,  yet  with 
the  simplicity,  it  must  be  admitted,  of  the  artist. 
She  seemed  somehow  to  make  their  goodly  show- 
ing fade  before  her  own,  as  a  crimson  flower 
draws  from  the  colour  of  one  of  delicate  blue. 

Well,  take  them  separately  or  as  a  group, 
they  were  an  absorbing  study  to  the  man  who 
had  seen  so  little  of  their  kind  for  so  long  past, 
yet  knew  that  kind  by  the  wontedness  of  his  life- 
time. He  seemed  to  himself  somehow  to  be 
viewing  them  all,  for  the  first  time,  from  a  van- 
tage point  he  had  never  before  occupied.   Every 


BROWN'S  ANSWERS  TO  QUESTIONS      93 

word  they  said  in  their  pleasantly  modulated, 
well-bred  voices,  with  the  familiar  accent  of  the 
educated  environment  from  which  they  came, 
and  from  which  he  came — ^it  was  his  accent,  too, 
but  somehow  it  sounded  a  bit  foreign  to  him  to- 
night— struck  upon  his  ear  with  a  new  meaning. 
Each  gesture  they  made,  personal  and  familiar 
to  him  as  they  were,  struck  Brown  now  with  its 
special  individuahty. 

"It's  not  fair,  Don,"  said  Sue  Breckenridge 
suddenly,  "for  you  to  stand  over  there  in  the 
shadow  and  watch  us,  without  our  being  able  to 
see  your  face  at  all." 

"You  don't  realize,"  declared  Brown,  in  an- 
swer to  this  assertion  and  the  general  assenting 
laugh  which  followed  it,  backed  by  Atchison's 
"Hear,  hear!"  "that  the  group  you  all  make  in 
the  hght  of  my  fire  is  a  picture  far  ahead  of  any- 
thing in  Atchison's  collection.  I  should  be  an 
unappreciative  host  indeed  if  I  didn't  make  the 
most  of  it." 


94  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

"What  an  artful  speech!"  laughed  Mrs. 
Brainard,  lifting  fine  eyes  in  an  attempt  to  make 
out  the  shadowy  face  above  her.  "  It's  well  cal- 
culated to  distract  our  attention  from  the  fact 
that  you  are  not  changing  your  position  by  so 
much  as  the  moving  of  an  arm.  We  came  to  see 
you,  man,  not  to  show  ourselves  to  you." 

"We  came  to  cheer  his  loneliness,"  put  in 
Hugh  Breckenridge  with  a  peculiar,  cjniical- 
soimding  Httle  laugh  for  which  he  was  famous. 
' '  And  we  find  him  up  to  his  neck  in  boys.  Jove ! 
How  do  you  stand  their  dirty  hands,  Don? 
That's  what  would  get  me,  no  matter  how  good 
my  intentions  were." 

"  Those  hands  were  every  pair  scrubbed  to  a 
finish,  to-day,  in  honour  of  Thanksgiving.  Do 
you  think  we  have  no  manners  here?"  retorted 
Brown. 

"  That  wasn't  the  dinner  party  you  wrote  me 
of  when  you  refused  to  come  to  mine,  was  it, 
Don?  "  questioned  his  sister. 


BROWN'S  ANSWERS  TO  QUESTIONS      95 

"No.  This  was  an  after-dinner  party,  par- 
taking of  the '  lavin's,' "  Brown  explained.  "  The 
real  one  was  over  an  hour  before." 

"Do  tell  us  about  it.  Did  you  enjoy  it? 
Won't  you  describe  your  guests? "  Mrs.  Brain- 
•ird  spoke  eagerly. 

"W^th  pleasure.  The  Kelceys  are  my  next- 
\  loor  neighbours  on  the  left.  Mrs.  Kelcey  is  pure 
gold — ^in  the  rough.  Her  husband  is  not  quite 
her  equal,  but  he  knows  it  and  strives  to  be 
worthy  of  her.  The  Murdisons,  on  the  other 
side,  are — Scotch  granite — splendid  building 
material.  Old  Mr.  Benson,  the  watchmaker,  is 
— well,  he's  full- Jewelled.  The  others  I  perhaps 
can't  characterize  quite  so  easily,  but  among 
them  I  find  several  imcut  gems  of  the  semi- 
precious varieties.  Of  course  there's  consider- 
able commonplace  material — ^if  you  can  ever  call 
the  stuff  of  which  human  beings  are  made  com- 
monplace, which  I  doubt.  There's  more  or  less 
copper  and  brass,  with  a  good  bit  of  clay — as 


96  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

there  is  in  all  of  us.  And  a  deal  of  a  more 
spiritual  element  which  can't  be  measured  or 
described,  but  which  makes  them  all  worth 
knowing." 

He  had  spoken  in  a  thoughtful  tone,  as  if  he 
took  Mrs.  Brainard's  question  seriously  and 
meant  to  answer  it  in  the  same  way.  A  mo- 
ment's silence  followed.  Then  Doctor  Brain- 
ard  said  slowly: 

"  I  suppose  you  don't  find  those  priceless  ele- 
ments among  the  people  of  your  abandoned 
parish.  Down  there  we're  all  copper  and  clay, 
eh?" 

"  If  you  had  been  clay  I  might  have  done  more 
with  you,"  was  the  quick  retort. 

"And  you  can  do  things  with  these  people, 
can  you?  Dig  out  the  rough  gold,  poUsh  the  un- 
cut diamonds,  build  temples  of  the  granite — and 
perhaps  mold  even  the  clay  into  works  of  art?" 

The  answer  to  the  ironic  question  was  grave 
enough,  and  it  came  with  a  quietness  which 


BROWN'S  ANSWERS  TO  QUESTIONS      97 

spoke  more  eloquentiy  than  fervid  tones  would 
have  done  of  the  feeling  behind  it. 

"No,  Doctor,  I  can't  hope  to  do  those  things. 
I'm  not  wise  enough.  But  the  things  these 
people  are  going  to  do  to  me,  if  I'll  let  them,  are 
worth  coming  for." 

"They've  done  some  of  them  already,"  mur- 
mured Mrs.  Brainard.  But  nobody  heard  her 
except  Sue  Breckenridge,  who  cried  out: 

"And  you're  not  a  bit  homesick,  Don,  while 
you're  Uving  like  this?" 

"  If  you  people  won't  come  up  here  very  orten 
and  make  me  remember  what  being  with  you  is 
like,  I  shall  get  on  pretty  well,"  said  Brown's 
voice  from  the  shadow. 

"Then  we'll  come  as  often  as  we  can,"  cried 
Sue  triumphantly. 

"No,  you  won't — ^not  if  you  want  to  help  me. 
My  reputation  as  an  indigent  bachelor  out  of  a 
job  won't  stand  many  onslaughts  of  company 
dressed  as  you  are.    If  you  want  to  come  to  see 


98  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

me  you  must  come  disguised.  I'm  afraid  I'm 
under  suspicion  already." 

"  Explain  to  them  that  we're  the  clay,  they  the 
uncut  diamonds.  That  will  let  you  out,"  ad- 
vised Doctor  Brainard  grimly. 

"Ah,  but  you  don't  look  the  part,"  said 
Brown,  laughing.  "  You  look  like  what  you  are, 
a  big  jewel  of  a  fellow,  as  my  friend  Mrs.  Keicey 
would  say.  To  tell  the  truth,  you  all  seem  like 
jewels  to  me  to-night — and  such  polished  ones 
you  dazzle  my  eyes.  Hugh,  I'd  forgotten  what 
a    well-cut    coat    looked    like.    I    remember 


now." 


"You  seem  pretty  well  dressed  yourself,"  re- 
marked Atchison,  peering  up  into  the  shadow. 
"According  to  Mrs.  Breckenridge,  you  go  about 
dressed  in  monk's  cloth,  and  a  shabby  variety  at 
that.    This  doesn't  look  hke  it." 

"  He  was  wearing  a  dreadful,  old  shiny  serge 
suit  when  I  saw  him  a  fortnight  ago,"  said  Sue. 
"And  such  a  scarf-pin!    Don,  are  you  wearini: 


BROWN'S  ANSWERS  TO  QUESTIONS      99 

that  same  scarf-pin  to-night?    Do  show  it  to 
them." 

"  Does  choosing  to  Hve  by  himself  make  a  maa 
a  fair  target  for  all  the  quips  and  arrows  of  his 
friends?"  Brown  queried,  at  the  same  time 
withdrawing  obediently  the  little  silver  pin 
from  his  cravat  and  giving  it  into  Atchison's 
outstretched  hand.  "Be  just  to  that  pin, 
Webb.  It  was  given  me  by  a  special  friend  of 
mine." 

"How  will  you  exchange?"  Atchison  inquired 
gravely,  touching  his  own  neckwear  as  he  ex- 
amined the  pin.  A  rare  and  costly  example  of 
the  jeweller's  art  reposed  there,  as  might  havf. 
been  expected. 

"I'll  not  exchange,  thank  you." 

"Neither  will  I,"  declared  Atchison,  leaning 
back  with  a  laugh  and  passing  the  pin  on  down 
the  line. 

Hugh  Breckenridge  gave  the  obviously  cheap 
and   commonplace  little   article   one   careless 


100  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

glance,  and  handed  it  to  Miss  Forrest.  She  ex- 
amined it  soberly,  as  if  seeking  to  find  its  pe- 
culiar value  in  its  owner's  eyes  Then  she 
looked  at  Brown. 

"This  has  a  story,  I  am  sure,  or  you  wouldn't 
care  so  much  for  it,"  she  said.  "  Are  we  worthy 
to  hear  it,  Mr.  Brown?" 

His  eyes  met  hers,  though  as  he  stood  she 
could  barely  make  out  that  fact. 

"I  should  like  you  to  hear  it." 

"Come  out  of  the  darkness,  Don,  please!*' 
begged  his  sister  again. 

The  others  echoed  the  wish,  and  Brown,  yield- 
ing against  his  will — somehow  he  had  never 
wanted  more  to  remain  in  the  shadow — took  a 
chair  at  one  end  of  the  hearth,  where  he  was  in 
full  view  of  them  all. 

"It  was  given  me,"  said  Brown,  speaking  in 
a  tone  which  instantly  arrested  even  Hugh 
Breckenridge's  careless  attention,  though  why  it 
did  so  he  could  not  have  said,  "by  a  man  whose 


BROWN'S  ANSWERS  TO  QUESTIONS    loi 

son  was  wearing  it  when  he  stood  on  a  plank 
between  two  windows,  ten  stories  up  in  the  air, 
and  passed  fifteen  girls  over  it  to  safety.  Then 
— the  plank  burned  through  at  one  end.  He 
had  known  it  would." 

There  fell  a  hush  upon  the  little  group.  Mrs. 
Brainard  put  out  her  hand  and  touched  Brown's 
shoulder  caressingly. 

"No  wonder  you  wouldn't  exchange  it,  Don," 
she  said,  very  gently. 

"Was  the  father  at  your  dinner,  Don?*' 
Doctor  Brainard  asked,  after  a  minute. 

"Yes,  Doctor." 

"So  you  wore  it  to  please  him,'*  commented 
Sue. 

"He  wore  it,"  said  Helena  Forrest,  "as  a  man 
might  wear  the  Victoria  Cross." 

"Ah,  but  I  didn't  earn  it,"  denied  Brown, 
without  looking  up. 

"I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,"  Mrs.  Brainard  de- 
clared.    "You  must  have  done  something  to 


102  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

make  the  father  feel  you  worthy  to  wear  a  thing 
he  valued  so  much." 

"He  fancied,"  said  Brown — "he  and  the 
mother — that  there  was  a  slight  resemblance  be- 
tween my  looks  and  those  of  the  sc«i.  And  they 
iiave  a  finer  memorial  of  him  than  anything  he 
wore;  they  have  one  end  of  the  burned  jJank. 
Hie  father  has  cut  the  date  on  it,  with  his  son's 
name,  and  it  hangs  over  the  chimney-piece." 

"What  a  tragic  thing! "  cried  Sue,  shuddering. 
"I  don't  see  how  they  can  keep  it.  Do  tell  us 
something  else,  Don.  Doesn't  anything  amus- 
ing ever  happen  here?  Oh —  .  what  became 
of  the  baby?" 

Brown  rose  suddenly  to  his  feet.  "Fm  for- 
getting my  hospitality,"  said  he.  "  I'm  gcang  to 
make  you  all  some  coffee.  The  baby.  Sue,  is  at 
Mrs.  Kelcey's,  next  door.  Having  only  six  of 
her  own,  she  could  easily  make  room  for  the 
seventh." 

"Tell  us  about  the  baby,*'  demanded  Webb 


BROWN'S  ANSWERS  TO  QUESTIONS    103 

Atchison.  "Has  Don  gone  into  the  nursery 
business,  with  all  the  rest?" 

Sue  began  to  tell  the  story,  describing  the 
night  on  which  she  made  her  first  visit  to  her 
brother.  Brown  disappeared  into  the  kitchen 
and  soon  returned,  bringing  with  him,  as  was  his 
entertaining  custom,  the  materials  for  brewing 
his  coffee  upon  the  hob. 

"You  remember,"  he  said,  as  he  came,  "the 
way  this  room  was  cleared  for  your  reception?  " 

"  By  an  avalanche  of  boys,  who  swept  every- 
thing, hurly-burly,  into  outer  darkness,"  sup- 
pHed  Breckenridge. 

"You  can  guess,  perhaps,  what  the  kitchen 
must  be  looking  Hke,  can't  you?" 

"Indescribable,"  murmured  Sue.  "You're 
not  going  to  invite  us  to  put  it  in  order  for  you, 
are  you,  Don? — and  wash  all  those  dreadful, 
gaudy  plates  and  cups?  " 

"Just  take  a  look  out  there,  will  you?" 

Sue  shook  her  head,  but  Mrs.  Brainard  went 


I04  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

to  the  door,  followed  by  Atchison  and  Miss  For- 
rest. They  looked  out  upon  a  low-ceiled,  lamp- 
lighted  room,  in  absolute  order,  in  which  was  not 
a  trace  of  the  late  festival-making  except  the 
piles  of  clean  dishes  upon  the  table,  under  which 
lay  Bim,  nose  on  paws,  alert  eyes  on  the  strang- 
ers. 

"Magic?"  queried  Mrs.  Brainard.  "Surely 
those  noisy  boys  couldn't  accomplish  such  a 
miracle?  " 

"Never.  Though  I  suspect  they  were  put  to 
work  by  a  good  general,  for  the  borrowed  chairs 
are  gone  and  so  are  several  other  bulky  articles. 
There's  no  difficulty  in  guessing  who  did  the 
deed,"  said  Brown,  busy  with  his  coffee-making. 

He  served  his  guests  presently  with  a  beverage 
which  made  Atchison  exclaim:  "The  old  chap 
certainly  knows  how  to  make  the  best  stuff  I 
ever  drank.  When  I  tasted  this  brew  first  I  in- 
vited myself  to  come  out  and  stay  a  week  with 
him,  but  he  wouldn't  have  me." 


BROWN'S  ANSWERS  TO  QUESTIONS    105 

"You're  too  polished  an  article  for  his  hand; 
he  wants  his  work-stuflf  raw,"  Doctor  Brainard 
said  again.  Evidently  this  point  rankled. 
Brown  looked  up. 

"I'll  challenge  you  to  stay  and  have  it  out 
with  me,  Doctor,"  said  he. 

"  Thank  you,  I  came  for  no  other  purpose,"  re- 
torted the  doctor  coolly.  "These  people 
brought  me  up  to  have  a  look  at  you,  and  I'm 
not  going  back  till  morning." 

"That's  great!"  Brown's  face  showed  his 
pleasure. 


XI 
BROWN'S  PRESENT  WORLD 


When  Miss  Forrest  returned  from  her  survey 
of  the  kitchen  she  had  come  straight  to  the  cor- 
ner of  the  hearth  where  Brown  stood,  and  had 
taken  the  chair  beside  the  one  he  had  lately 
occupied.  He  was  therefore  beside  her  when  he 
sat  down  to  drink  his  coffee  with  his  guests.  At 
a  moment  when  Webb  Atchison  and  Sue  Breck- 
enridge  were  engaged  in  a  bit  of  controversy- 
over  the  relative  merits  of  varying  methods  of 
coffee  making,  Helena  Forrest  turned  to  Brown, 
who  had  been  looking  into  the  fire  without 
speaking. 

"  I  hope  you  don't  really  mind  our  coming  up 

here  to-night,"  she  said. 

zo6 


BROWN'S  PRESENT  WORLD  107 

"  Mind  it?  If  I  did,  I  couldn't  blame  you,  iof 
you  came  against  your  will,"  he  answered — and 
his  eyes  were  no  longer  upon  the  fire. 

"Without  my  consent,  but  not,  perhaps, 
against  my  wilL" 

He  regarded  her  intently.  She  met  his  lock. 
without  turning  aside. 

"  You  felt  a  curiosity  to  see  the  hermit  in  his 
cell,"  was  his  explanation  of  the  matter. 

She  nodded.  "Of  course.  Who  wouldn't, 
after  such  reports  as  Mrs.  Breckenridge  brought 
back?" 

"  And  now  that  you  have  seen  him — you  are 
consumed  with  pity?" 

"No.  If  I  am  consumed  with  anything  it  is 
with  envy." 

His  low  laugh  spoke  his  disbelief.  She  read  it 
in  the  sound  and  in  the  way  his  gaze  left  her  face 
and  went  back  to  the  fire. 

"You  don't  think  I  mean  that,"  said  she. 

"Hardly." 


io8  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

"Why  not?" 

"It  is — inconceivable." 

"Why?" 

Her  face,  turned  toward  him,  invited  him 
to  look  at  it  again,  but  he  did  not — just 
then. 

"Because  you  are — ^Helena  Forrest,"  he 
answered. 

"And  what  is  she,  please,  in  your  opinion?" 

"An  inhabitant  of  another  world  than  that  I 
live  in." 

"A  world  of  which  you  have  an  even  poorer 
opinion  than  you  used  to  have  when  you  lived  in 
it  yourself!" 

He  smiled.  "Anyhow,  I  am  no  longer  in  it. 
Nor  ever  shall  go  back." 

A  startled  look  passed  over  her  face.  "You 
don't  mean  that  you  intend  to  stay  here — ^for- 
ever?" 

"Not  quite  that.  But  I  mean  to  do  this  sort 
of  work,  rather  than  the  sort  I  began  with.    To 


BROWN'S  PRESENT  WORLD  109 

do  it  I  must  live  much  as  I  am  living  now,  where- 
ever  that  may  be.  Now — what  about  the  envy 
of  me  you  profess?" 

He  turned,  still  smiling,  at  the  little  sound  he 
caught  from  her  half-closed  hps. 

"Are  you  happy  in  such  a  decision?  "  she  mur- 
mured. 

"Do  I  look  like  an  unhappy  man?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "That's  what  I  have 
been  noticing  about  you  ever  since  I  came.  You 
did  look  unhappy  when  you  went  away.  Now, 
you  don't.  And  it  is  the  look  on  your  face  which 
gives  me  the  sense  of  envy." 

Brown  gave  one  quick  glance  at  the  rest  of  the 
party.  "Do  you  mean  to  say,"  he  questioned, 
very  low,  "  that  you  are  not  happy?  " 

"Does  that  seem  so  strange?" 

"  It  might  very  naturally  seem  so,  to  one  who 
knows  what  you  have  to  make  you  the  happiest 
of  the  happy." 

"You  yourself  didn't  find  happiness  among 


no  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

similar  surroundings,"  she  said,  looking  at  him 
intently. 

"Similar?"  The  thought  seemed  to  amuse 
him. 

"  Well,  weren't  they  similar?  At  any  rate  we 
were  in  the  same  world,  and  you  say  now  we  are 
not." 

"We  are  so  far  apart,"  said  he  evenly,  "that 
we  can  only  signal  to  each  other.  And  even 
then — ^neither  is  familiar  with  the  other's 
code!" 

"  Oh ! "  she  exclaimed,  and  a  strange  expression 
showed  in  her  eyes.  "What  a  hard,  hard  thing 
for  you  to  say!    It  doesn't  sound  like  you." 

"Hard?"  he  questioned,  with  a  contraction  of 
the  brows.  "  It  is  substantially  what  you  your- 
self once  said.  If  it  was  true  then,  it  must  be 
true  now." 

Moved  by  some  impulse  the  two  lodged  at 
each  other  searchingly,  Donald  Brown's  face 
grave  but  tense,  Helena  Forrest's  ftdl  of  a  proud 


BROWN'S  PRESENT  WORLD  iii 

pain.  Clearly  they  were  not  understanding 
each  other's  code  now — so  much  was  evident. 

At  this  instant,  without  warning,  the  outer 
door  flew  open.  Mrs.  Kelcey,  her  round  red 
face  disordered,  her  breath  coming  short,  stood 
upon  the  threshold  and  spoke  pantingly,  without 
regard  to  the  company  assembled: 

"Mr.  Brown,  sor!  The  baby's  dyin — ^the 
sthranger  child.  It  was  took  all  of  a  suddint. 
Would  ye  moind  comin'  to  say  a  bit  of  a  prayer 
over  him?  Father  McCarty's  away,  or  I 
wouldn't  ask  it." 

She  was  gone  with  the  words.  With  the  jfirst 
sentence  Brown  had  sprung  to  his  feet.  As  Mary 
Kelcey  vanished  he  turned  to  Doctor  Brainard. 

"Come,  Doctor,"  he  said,  with  a  beckoning 
hand.  "  While  I  say  the  bit  of  a  prayer  you  try 
ivhat  you  can  do  to  keep  the  baby  here!" 

The  eminent  physician  rose  rather  slowly  to 
his  feet.  "It's  probably  no  use,"  he  demurred. 
"The  woman  knows." 


112  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

"  The  Lord  knows,  too,"  declared  Brown,  with 
a  propelling  hand  on  his  friend's  arm:  "knows 
that  you're  here  to  give  the  child  a  chance. 
Come!    Hurry!" 

The  two  went  out.  Doctor  Brainard  would 
have  stayed  for  his  hat  and  overcoat,  but  Brown 
would  brook  no  delay. 

Left  behind,  the  party  by  the  fire  looked  at  one 
another  with  faces  sobered.  Hugh  Brecken- 
ridge  consulted  his  watch. 

"It's  time  we  were  off,"  he  declared.  "The 
Doctor's  going  to  stay  anyway,  and  it's  no  use 
waiting  for  Don  to  come  back." 

"That's  right,"  agreed  Webb  Atchison.  "I 
came  up  here  once  before,  about  six  months 
ago,  and  I  saw  then  enough  of  the  way  things 
went  here  to  know  that  he  Uves  at  the  beck 
and  call  of  every  man,  woman,  and  child  in  this 
district — and  they  call  him,  too.  He'd  just 
finished  sobering  up  a  drunkard  that  night,  or 
scant  attention  I'd  have  had.    Well,  I'll  walk 


BROWN'S  PRESENT  WORLD  113 

down  to  the  hotel  and  send  back  Rogers  and  the 
car.    Be  ready  in  ten  mmutes?  " 

They  said  they  would  be  ready.  But  in 
Brown's  little  bedroom,  donning  furry  wraps, 
Helena  Forrest  spoke  in  Sue  Breckenridge's  ear : 

"  I  can't  bear  to  go  till  we  know  how  it  comes 
out." 

Sue  stared  at  her.  "You  don't  mean  to  say 
you  care?  Why — it's  just  a  forlorn  little  found- 
ling— ^better  dead  than  alive.  I  saw  it  when  I 
was  here  two  weeks  ago.  It  has  nothing  to  Hve 
for,  dear.    Don't  think  of  it  again." 

"But  he  cared — your  brother  cared,"  said 
Helena  Forrest. 

"Oh,  Don  cares  about  everything.  I  never 
saw  such  a  soft  heart.  Of  course  I  think  it's 
lovely  of  him,  though  I  don't  understand  how  he 
can  be  so  absorbed  in  such  a  class  of  people." 

Miss  Forrest  went  to  the  one  window  of 
the  room.  She  lifted  the  plain  shade  which 
covered  it  and  looked   out    into   the   night. 


114  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

Ten  yards  away  she  saw  a  brightly  lighted,  un- 
curtained window,  beyond  which  were  figures, 
plainly  discernible.  The  figures  were  moving, 
one  bringing  a  pail,  another  stooping — the 
scene  was  not  one  of  still  waiting  but  of  tense 
action.  She  caught  a  glimpse  of  Doctor  Brain- 
ard's  tall  form  bending  above  something  at  one 
side,  then  she  saw  Brown  himself  cross  the  room 
in  haste. 

Mrs.  Brainard  and  Sue  went  back  to  the  outer 
room  to  stand  before  the  fire  with  the  purpose  of 
accumulating  all  the  bodily  heat  possible  before 
the  long,  cold  drive.  Miss  Forrest,  unheeding 
them,  remained  by  the  window  in  the  unhghted 
bedroom.  Minutes  passed.  Hugh  Brecken- 
ridge  had  fallen  to  examining  the  larger  room's 
eighteenth  century  features — he  was  something 
of  a  connoisseur  in  antiques. 

Helena,  turning  from  the  window  for  a  mo- 
ment, scanned  the  shadowy  room  in  which  she 
stood.    It  was  very  scantily  furnished  with  the 


BROWN'S  PRESENT  WORLD  115 

bare  essentials.  Upon  the  plain  chest  of  drawers 
wliich  held  Brown's  bachelor  belongings  stood  a 
few  simply  framed  photographs;  an  old  set  of 
hanging  bookshelves  was  crammed  full  of  books, 
with  more  overflowing  upon  the  floor. 

Suddenly,  as  she  stood  there,  an  outer  door 
banged;  swift  footsteps  crossed  the  floor. 
Helena  tujned  to  see  Donald  Brown  himself 
rushing  into  the  room.  He  ran  to  the  chest  of 
drawers,  pulled  one  open,  searched  a  minute, 
withdrew  something,  and  was  hurrying  out  of 
the  room  again,  when  he  caught  sight  of  the  fig- 
ure at  the  window.  Involuntarily  he  halted  foi 
an  instant. 

"Can  you  save  it?"  Helena  cried,  under  her 
breath. 

"I  don't  know — Brainard's  got  his  coat  off^ 
Pray  for  us,  will  you?" 

He  was  gone  again. 

Beside  the  narrow  bed  on  which  he  lay  every 
night,  there  dropped  upon  its  knees  a  figure  in 


ii6  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

sumptuous  furs;  a  face  such  as  men  vow  them- 
selves ready  to  die  for  was  pressed  into  the  hard 
little  pillow.  Helena  Forrest  breathed  a  prayer  of 
beseeching  for  a  life  she  had  never  seen,  and  when 
she  had  done  lifted  eyes  wet  with  tears. 

As  Hugh  Breckenridge,  protesting  at  the  late- 
ness of  the  hour,  marshalled  his  friends  into  the 
great  car  at  the  door.  Doctor  Brainard  came  out 
of  Mrs.  Kelcey's  house  and  ran  across  to  the  curb. 

"Don  wants  me  to  teU  you  that  the  baby's 
pulled  through.  It's  gone  off  to  sleep  with  his 
finger  in  its  fist,  and  he  won't  leave  it.  He  says 
*good-night'  to  you." 

"  Was  it  the  prayer  or  the  potion  that  saved  it, 
Doctor?"  questioned  Breckenridge  in  his  caustic 
tone. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  the  doctor — and  there 
was  something  new  and  gentle  in  his  voice.  "  It 
was  very  nearly  beyond  potions — I'm  inclined  to 
think  it  was  the  prayer." 

An  hour  afterward,  Doctor  Brainard,  sitting 


BROWN'S  PRESENT  WORLD  117 

wide-awake  and  thoughtful  before  Brown's  fire, 
was  aware  of  the  quiet  entrance  of  the  younger 
man.  He  looked  up,  and  a  radiant  smile  met 
him. 

"Still  doing  well,  I  see,  Don." 

Brown  nodded.  He  sank  down  into  the  chair 
opposite  the  doctor  and  ran  his  hand  through 
his  hair.  In  spite  of  the  brightness  of  his  face 
the  gesture  betrayed  weariness. 

Doctor  Brainard  got  up.  He  went  over  to  the 
comer  where  his  overcoat  hung  upon  a  peg  in  the 
wall,  and  took  from  a  pocket  a  small  instru- 
ment composed  mostly  of  tubes.  He  inserted 
certain  earpieces  in  his  ears  and  returned  to  the 
fire. 

"Sit  up  and  let  me  get  at  you,"  he  com- 
manded. 

Brown  glanced  round,  saw  the  doctor's  gro- 
tesque appearance  with  the  stethoscope  in  po- 
sition, and  shook  his  head. 

"That's  not  fair.    I  was  up  rather  early,  and 


ii8  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

it's  been  a  fairly  full  day — and  night.  Take  me 
in  the  morning." 

"I'll  take  you  right  now,  when  you're  tired 
enough  to  show  up  whatever's  there.  Coat  off, 
please." 

He  made  his  examination  painstakingly, 
omitting  no  detail  of  his  inquiry  into  the  state  of 
both  heart  and  lungs. 

"  What  would  you  say  if  I  told  you  you  were  in 
a  bad  way?  "  he  asked. 

Brown  smiled.  "  I  shouldn't  believe  you.  I 
know  you  too  well.  You  can't  disguise  the  fact 
that  you  find  nothing  new,  and  the  old  things  im- 
proved. I  know  I'm  stronger  than  I  was  a  year 
ago.  Why  shouldn't  I  be — ^with  nothing  to  do 
but  take  care  of  myself?" 

The  doctor  whistled.  "How  do  you  make 
that  out,  that  'nothing  to  do?'" 

"With  the  demands  of  a  great  parish  off  my 
shoulders  the  little  I  do  here  is  child's  play." 

"After  I  left  you  with  the  baby,"  said  the 


BROWN'S  PRESENT  WORLD  119 

doctor,  "Mrs.  Kelcey  followed  me  into  the 
other  room  and  told  me  a  few  things.  In  your 
old  parish  you  had  your  sleep  o'  nights.  In  your 
new  one  I  should  say  you  spend  the  sleeping 
hours  in  activity." 

"In  my  old  parish,"  said  Brown,  studying  the 
fire  mth  an  odd  twist  at  the  corners  of  his  lips, 
"  I  lay  awake  nights  worrying  over  my  problems. 
Here,  I'm  asleep  the  minute  my  head  touches  the 
pillow.    Isn't  that  a  gain?  " 

"Too  weary  to  do  anything  else,  I  suppose. 
Well,  I  shall  have  to  admit  that  you  are  im- 
proved— surprisingly  so.  You  are  practically 
well.  But  what  I  can't  understand  is  how  a  man 
of  your  calibre,  your  tastes,  your  fineness  of  make- 
up, can  stand  consorting  with  these  people. 
Be  honest,  now.  After  such  a  visit  as  youVe 
had  to-night  with  the  old  friends,  don't  you  feel 
a  bit  like  giving  in  and  coming  back  to  us?  " 

Brown  lifted  his  head.  "Doctor,"  said  he, 
slowly,  and  with  a  peculiar  emphasis  which  made 


I20  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

his  friend  study  his  face  closely,  "if  the  Devil 
wanted  to  put  temptation  in  my  way,  just  as  I 
have  decided  on  my  future  course,  he  did  it  by 
sending  you  and  the  others  down  here  to-night. 
If  I  could  have  jumped  into  that  car  with  the 
rest  of  you,  and  by  that  one  act  put  myself  back 
in  the  old  place,  I  would  have  done  it — ^but  for 
one  thing.  And  that's  the  sure  knowledge  that 
soft  living  makes  me  soft.  I  love  the  good 
things  of  this  life  so  that  they  unfit  me  for  real 
service.  Do  you  know  what  was  the  matter 
with  my  heart  when  I  came  away?  I  do.  It 
was  high  living.  It  was  sitting  with  my  legs 
imder  the  mahogany  of  my  millionaire  parish- 
ioners' tables,  driving  in  their  limousines,  drinks 
ing  afternoon  tea  with  their  wives,  letting  them 
send  me  to  Europe  whenever  I  looked  a  bit  pale. 
Soft !  I  w£LS  a  down  pillow,  a  lump  of  putty.  I, 
who  was  supposed  to  be  a  fighter  for  the  Lord ! " 
"Nonsense,  man!"  cried  the  doctor,  now 
thoroughly  aroused.    "You  were  the  hardest 


BROWN'S  PRESENT  WORLD  121 

worker  in  the  city.  Your  organizations — ^your 
charities " 

"My  organizations,  my  charities!"  The 
words  came  in  a  tone  of  contempt.  "  They  were 
all  in  fine  working  order  when  I  came  to  them. 
They  continued  to  work,  with  no  help  from  me. 
They  are  working  quite  as  well  now  in  my  ab- 
sence as  they  did  in  my  presence.  St.  Timothy's 
is  a  great,  strong  society  of  the  rich,  and  the 
man  they  engage  to  preach  to  them  on  Sun- 
days has  mighty  little  to  do  that  any  figurehead 
couldn't  do  as  weU.  Down  here — ^well,  there  is 
something  to  do  which  won't  get  done  unless  I 
do  it.  And  if  this  neighbourhood,  or  any  other 
similar  one,  needs  me,  there's  no  question  that 
still  more  do  I  need  the  neighbourhood." 

"In  other  words,"  said  the  doctor,  "Mrs.. 
Kelcey  can  do  more  for  you  than  Bruce  Brain-^ 
ard?" 

The  look  which  met  his  frown  was  compre- 
hending.   "Doctor,"  said  Brown,  "every  man 


122  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

knows  his  own  weakness.  I  like  the  society  <rf 
Bruce  Brainard  so  well  that  when  I'm  in  it  I  can 
forget  all  the  pain  and  sorrow  in  the  world. 
When  I'm  with  Mrs.  Kelcey  I  have  to  remember 
the  hurt,  and  the  grind,  and  the  hardness  of  life 
— ^and  it's  good  for  me.  It  helps  me,  as  St.  Paul 
said,  to '  keep  under  my  body  and  bring  it  into  sub 
jedion.*" 

"That's  monkish  doctrine.'* 

"No,  it's  St.  Paul's,  I  teU  you.  Remember 
the  rest  of  it? — 'lest  that  by  any  means ^  when  I 
have  preached  to  others,  I  myself  should  be  a  cast- 
away I' ^' 

"You!    A  castaway!"    The  doctor  laughed. 

Brown  nodded,  rising.  "You  can  see  a  long 
way  into  a  man's  body.  Doctor,  but  not  so  far 
into  his  soul.  There's  been  a  pretty  rotten 
place  in  mine.  .  .  .  Come,  shall  we  go  to 
bed?    It's  almost  two." 

The  doctor  assented,  and  Brown  went  into  his 
bedroom  to  make  it  ready  for  his  guest.    Closing 


BROWN'S  PRESENT  WORLD  123 

the  drawers  he  had  opened  in  such  haste  two 
hours  before,  his  eye  was  caught  by  something 
unfamiliar.  Against  one  of  the  framed  photo- 
graphs which  stood  upon  the  top  of  the  chest 
leaned  a  new  picture,  imframed.  By  the  light  of 
the  small  lamp  he  had  brought  into  the  room  he 
examined  it.  As  the  face  before  him  was  pre- 
sented to  his  gaze  he  stopped  breathing  for  the 
space  of  several  thudding  heartbeats. 

Out  of  the  veiling  brown  mists  of  the  picture 
looked  a  pair  of  eyes  at  which  one  glance  had 
long  been  of  more  moment  to  him  than  the 
chance  to  look  long  and  steadily  into  other  eyes. 
The  exquisite  lines  of  a  face  which,  having  seen, 
men  did  not  forget,  were  there  before  him,  in 
his  possession.  It  was  the  face  of  the  woman, 
young  and  rich  with  beauty  and  with  worldly 
wealth,  who  had,  three  years  before,  refused  to 
marry  Donald  Brown. 

"  How  did  this  come  here?  Did  Sue  leave  it? 
Or  did  you  ?"    He  questioned  the  photograph 


124  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

in  his  mind,  staring  at  it  with  eager  eyes. 
"  Wasn't  it  enough  for  you  to  come  here  to-night, 
to  make  me  realize  how  far  apart  we  are?  You 
like  to  play  with  men's  hearts — so  they  say. 
Don't  you  think  it's  a  bit  cruel  to  play  with  mine 
— now?" 

But  he  looked  and  looked  at  the  enchanting 
face.  And  even  as  he  looked  Doctor  Brainard 
called  out  from  the  other  room: 

"By  the  way,  Don,  I  suppose  you've  noticed 
that  Atchison  seems  to  be  getting  on  with  his  suit. 
Everybody  thinks  it's  either  an  engagement  or 
likely  to  be  one  soon.    Pretty  fine  match,  eh?  " 

It  was  a  full  minute  before  the  answer  came. 
When  it  did  it  soimded  a  Httle  as  if  the  speaker 
had  his  head  in  the  clothespress  which  opened 
from  the  small  bedroom,  albeit  the  tone  was  gay 
enough: 

"Webb's  one  of  the  best  men  I  know.  He 
deserves  to  win  whatever  he  wants.  Do  you 
like  a  hard  pillow  or  a  soft.  Doctor?" 


XII 
BROWN'S  OLD  WORLD 


On  a  certain  morning  in  February,  Mrs. 
Hugh  Breckenridge  alighted  in  haste  from  her 
limousine  in  front  of  a  stately  apartment 
house  in  the  best  quarter  of  a  great  city. 
She  hurried  through  the  entrance  hall  to  the  lift 
and  was  taken  up  with  smooth  speed  to  the 
seventh  story.  In  a  minute  more  she  was 
eagerly  pressing  the  button  at  the  door  of  a 
familiar  suite  of  rooms  into  which  she  had  not 
had  occasion  to  enter  for  more  than  a  year,  for 
the  very  good  reason  that  they  had  been  closed 
and  unoccupied  in  the  absence  of  their  tenant. 

The  returned  tenant  himself  opened  the  door 

to  her,  a  tall  figure  looming  in  the  dusk  of  an  im- 

125 


125  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

lighted  corridor — a  tall  figure  infinitely  dear  to 
Sue  Breckenridge. 

"O  Don!"  cried  the  visitor  in  an  accusing 
tone.  "How  could  you  come  back  without  let- 
ting us  know?" 

"I've  been  back  only  an  hour,"  explained 
Donald  Brown,  submitting  to  and  warmly  re- 
turning his  sister's  embrace.  "  How  in  the  world 
did  you  hear  of  it  so  soon?    Did  Brainard " 

She  nodded.  "  Mrs.  Brainard  called  me  up  at 
c)nce,  of  course.  She  knew  you  couldn*t  be 
serious  in  trying  to  keep  people  from  knowing 
you  were  here,  least  of  all  your  sister!" 

"I  was  intending  to  come  to  you  before 
iimcheon;  I  only  meant  to  surprise  you.  As  for 
the  rest — I  should  be  glad  if  they  needn't  know; 
at  least  until  I'm  ready  to  leave." 

"To  leave!  Don!  You're  not  going  to  per- 
sist in  going  back!  It  can't  be  true!  You 
won't  give  up  this  apartment — tell  me  you 
won't!" 


BROWN'S  OLD  WORLD  127 

His  sister's  tone  was  anguished.  Before  he 
answered  Brown  led  her  into  the  library  of  the 
suite,  the  room  in  which  he  had  been  occupied 
when  her  ring  came,  and  put  her  into  a  big  arm- 
chair, taking  from  her  her  wrap  and  furs.  Then 
he  sat  down  upon  the  edge  of  a  massive  mahog- 
any writing-table  near  by,  crossing  his  long  legs 
and  folding  his  arms,  while  she  mutely  waited 
for  him  to  speak. 

"  Sue,"  he  said — and  his  face  had  in  it  a  sort  of 
reflection  of  the  pain  in  hers — "you  may  be  siu^e 
I  haven't  come  to  this  decision  without  a  deal  of 
thought.  But  I've  made  it,  and  I'm  going  to 
stick  to  it  because  I  believe  it's  the  thing  for  me 
to  do.  I  assure  you  that  since  I  came  into  these 
rooms  they  have  been  beseeching  me,  as  loudly 
as  inanimate  things  can  not  to  desert  them. 
I'm  going  to  find  it  the  hardest  task  of  my  life  to 
take  leave  of  them." 

"  Don't  take  leave  of  them !  Lock  them  up  for 
another  year,  if  you  must  persist  in  your  experi- 


328  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

ment,  but  don't,  don't  burn  your  bridges  behind 
you!  Oh,  how  can  you  think  of  leaving  your 
splendid  church  and  going  off  to  consign  yourself 
to  obUvion,  living  with  poor  people  the  rest  of 
your  days?  You — you — ^Don! — I  can't  believe 
it  of  you!'' 

His  face,  in  his  effort  at  repression,  grew 
stem.  His  folded  arms  became  tense  in  the 
muscles. 

"Don't  make  it  harder  for  me  than  it  is.  I 
can't  discuss  it  with  you,  because  though  I 
argued  till  I  was  dumb  I  could  never  make  you 
see  what  I  see.  Accept  my  decision.  Sue  dear, 
and  don't  try  my  soul  by  pleading  with  me. 
.  .  .  I  have  a  lot  to  do.  I  should  like  your 
help.  See  here,  would  you  care  to  have  any  of 
my  things?  Look  about  you.  This  is  rather 
a  good  rug  under  your  feet.  Will  you  have 
it — and  any  others  you  fancy?  " 

She  looked  down  at  the  heavy  Eastern  rug,  ex- 
quisite in  its  softness  and  richness  of  colouring. 


BROWN'S  OLD  WORLD  129 

It  was  one  of  which,  knowing  its  value,  she  had 
long  envied  her  brother  the  possession.  She  put 
up  her  hand  and  brushed  away  the  mist  from  her 
eyes. 

"Aren't  you  going  to  take  any  comfortable 
things  with  you?  Are  you  going  to  go  on  hving 
on  pine  chairs  and  rag  carpets — ^you,  who  were 
brought  up  on  rugs  like  this?  " 

He  nodded.  "  For  the  most  part.  I've  been 
wondering  if  I  might  indulge  myself  in  one  big 
easy  chair,  just  for  old  times.  But  I'm  afraid  it 
won't  do." 

" Oh,  mercy,  Don !    Why  not?'' 

"How  should  I  explain  its  presence,  opposite 
my  red-cushioned  rocker?  Give  it  a  good  look, 
Sue,  that  chair,  and  tell  me  honestly  if  I  can 
afford  to  introduce  such  an  incongruous  note 
into  my  plain  bachelor  house  up  there." 

She  surveyed  the  chair  in  question,  a  luxurious 
and  costly  type  standing  for  the  last  word  in 
masculine  comfort  and  taste.    It  was  one  which 


13©  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

had  been  given  to  Brown  by  Webb  Atchison,  and 
had  long  been  a  favourite. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  she  said  hopelessly,  shak- 
ing her  head.  "I  can't  decide  for  any  monk 
what  he  shall  take  into  his  cell." 

Brown  flushed,  a  peculiar  dull  red  creeping 
up  under  his  dark  skin.  He  smothered  the  re- 
tort on  his  Hps,  however,  and  when  he  did  speak 
it  was  with  entire  control,  though  there  was, 
nevertheless,  an  uncompromising  quaHty  in  his 
inflection  which  for  the  moment  silenced  his 
sister  as  if  he  had  laid  his  hand  upon  her 
mouth. 

"Understand  me,  once  for  aU,  Sue — ^if  you 
can.  I  am  going  into  no  monastery.  To  such  a 
man  as  I  naturally  am,  I  am  going  out  of  what 
has  been  a  sheltered  hfe  into  one  in  the  open. 
You  think  of  me  as  retiring  from  the  world.  In- 
stead of  that,  I  am  just  getting  into  the  fight. 
And  to  fight  well — I  must  go  stripped." 

She  shook  her  head  again  and  walked  over  to 


BROWN'S  OLD  WORLD  131 

the  window,  struggling  with  very  real  emotion. 
At  once  he  was  beside  her,  and  his  arm  was 
about  her  shoulders.  He  spoke  very  gently 
now. 

"Don't  take  it  so  hard,  dear  girl.  I'm  not 
going  to  be  so  far  away  that  I  can  never  come 
back.  You  will  see  me  from  time  to  time.  I 
couldn't  get  on  without  my  one  sister — ^with 
father  and  mother  gone,  and  the  brothers  at  the 
other  side  of  the  world.  Come,  cheer  up,  and 
help  me  decide  what  disposal  to  make  of  my 
stuff.    Will  you  take  the  most  of  it?  " 

She  turned  about,  presently,  dried  her  eyes 
determinedly,  and  surveyed  the  room.  It  was  a 
beautiful  room,  the  sombre  hues  of  its  book- 
lined  walls  reheved  by  the  rich  and  mellow  tones 
of  its  rugs  and  draperies,  the  distinguished  fur- 
nishings of  the  writing-table,  and  the  subdued 
gleam  of  a  wonderful  reading-lamp  of  wrought 
copper  which  had  been  given  to  Brown  by  Sue 
herself. 


132  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

"If  you  will  let  me,"  she  said,  "I'll  give  up 
one  room  to  your  things  and  put  all  these 
into  it.  Aren't  you  even  going  to  take  your 
books?" 

"I  must — a.  couple  of  hundred,  at  least.  I 
can't  give  up  such  old  friends  as  these." 

"A  couple  of  hundred — out  of  a  couple  of 
thousand!" 

"There  are  five  thousand  in  this  room,"  said 
Brown  cheerfully.  "But  two  hundred  will  give 
me  a  very  good  selection  of  favourites,  and  I  can 
change  them  from  time  to  time.  I  have  sixt}i 
or  seventy  already  with  me.  .  .  .  Hello! 
Who  can  that  be?  Has  Brainard  been  giving 
me  away  right  and  left?  " 

He  answered  the  ring,  and  admitted  Webb 
Atchison,  rosy  of  cheek  and  rather  lordly  of  ap- 
pearance, as  always.  The  bachelor  came  in, 
frowning  even  as  he  smiled,  and  bringing  to 
Donald  Brown  a  vivid  suggestion  of  old  days. 

"Caught!"      he     cried,      shaking     hands. 


BROWN'S  OLD  WORLD  133 

"Thought  you  could  sneak  in  and  out  of  town 
like  a  thief  in  the  night,  did  you?  It  can't  be 
done,  old  man." 

He  was  in  a  hurry  and  could  stay  but  ten 
minutes.  Five  of  those  he  devoted  to  telling 
Brown  what  he  thought  of  the  news  he  had 
heard,  by  which  he  understood  that  St.  Tim- 
othy's was  to  lose  permanently  the  man  whom 
it  had  expected  soon  to  have  back.  Brown 
listened  with  head  a  little  down-bent,  arms 
folded  again,  lips  set  in  lines  of  determination. 
He  had  been  fully  prepared  for  the  onslaughts 
of  his  friends,  but  that  fact  hardly  seemed  to 
make  it  easier  to  meet  them.  When  Atchison 
had  dehvered  himself  uninterrupted,  Brown 
lifted  his  head  with  a  smile. 

"Through,  Webb?"  he  asked. 

"No,  I'm  not  through,  by  a  long  shot,  but  it's 
all  I  have  time  for  now,  for  I  came  on  a  different 
matter.  Since  I  heard  you  were  here  I've  been 
telephoning  around,  and  I've  got  together  a  little 


134  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

dinner-party  for  to-night  that  you  won't  evade 
if  you  have  a  particle  of  real  affection  for  me. 
I'm  not  going  to  be  cheated  out  of  it.  It'll  be  a 
hastily  arranged  affair,  but  there  may  be  some- 
thing decent  to  eat  and  drink.  Brainard  teUs 
me  you're  not  going  to  linger  in  town  an  hour 
after  your  business  is  done,  so  I  thought  best  to 
lose  no  time.  You'U  come,  of  course?  The  way 
you're  looking  just  now  I  don't  know  but  you're 
equal  to  refusing  me  even  such  a  small  favour  as 
this  one!" 

Brown  crossed  the  room,  to  lay  his  hands  on 
Atchison's  shoulders.  His  eyes  were  dark  with 
suppressed  feeling. 

"My  dear  old  friend,"  said  he  affectionately, 
"I  wish  you  wouldn't  take  the  thing  this  way. 
I'm  not  dealing  blows  at  those  I  love;  if  I'm  deal- 
ing them  at  anybody  it's  at  myself.  I  can't 
possibly  tell  you  what  it  means  to  me — this 
crisis.  I  can  only  ask  you  not  to  think  hardly  of 
me.    As  for  the  dinner,  if  it  will  please  you  to 


BROWN'S  OLD  WORLD  135 

have  me  agree  to  it  I  will,  only — I  should  a  little 
rather  have  you  stand  me  up  against  a  wall  and 
take  a  shot  at  me ! " 

"For  a  deserter?" 

Atchison  spoke  out  of  his  grief  and  anger,  not 
from  behef  in  the  motive  he  imputed.  When  he 
saw  Donald  Brown  turn  white  and  clench  the 
hands  he  dropped  from  his  friend's  shoulders, 
Atchison  realized  what  he  had  done.  He 
winced  under  the  sting  of  the  quick  and  imperi- 
ous command  which  answered  him: 

"Take  that  back,  Webb!" 

"I  do — and  apologize,"  said  the  other  man  in- 
stantly, and  tears  smarted  under  his  eyeKds. 
"  You  know  I  didn't  mean  it,  Don.  But — ^hang 
it  all! — I'm  bitterly  disappointed  and  I  can't 
help  showing  it." 

"Disappointed  in  me — or  in  my  act?"  Brown 
was  still  stem. 

"In  your  act,  of  course.  I'm  bound  to  ac- 
knowledge that  it  must  take  a  brave  man  to  cut 


136  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

cables  the  way  you're  doing — a  mighty  brave 
man." 

"I  don't  care  about  being  considered  brave, 
but  I  won't  be  called  a  coward." 

"I  thought,"  said  Atchison,  trying  to  smile, 
"  there  was  something  in  your  Bible  about  turn- 
ing the  other  cheek." 

"There  is,"  said  Brown  steadily.  "And  I  do 
it  when  I  come  to  your  dinner.  But  between 
now  and  then  I'll  knock  you  down  if  you  insult 
the  course  I've  laid  out  for  myself." 

The  two  men  gazed  at  each  other,  the  one  the 
thorough  man  of  the  world  with  every  sign  of  its 
prospering  touch  upon  him,  the  other  looking 
somehow  more  like  a  lean  and  hardened  young 
soldier  of  the  army  than  a  student  of  theology. 
Both  pairs  of  eyes  softened.  But  it  was  Atchi- 
son's which  gave  way  first. 

"Confound  you,  Don — it's  because  of  that 
splendidly  human  streak  in  you  that  we  love  you 
here.    You've  always  seemed  to  have  enough 


BROWN'S  OLD  WORLD  137 

personal  acquaintance  with  the  Devil  and  his 
works  to  make  you  understand  the  rest  of  us,  and 
refrain  from  being  too  hard  on  us." 

At  which  Sue  Breckenridge — ^who  had  been 
listening  with  tense-strung  nerves  to  the  inter- 
view taking  place  in  her  presence — laughed,  with 
an  hysterical  Httle  sob  shaking  her.  Both  men 
looked  at  her. 

"Poor  Sue,"  said  Brown.  "She  doesn't  like 
to  have  you  quarrel  with  me,  yet  it's  all  she  can 
do  to  keep  from  quarrelling  with  me  herself! 
Between  you,  if  you  don't  undermine  my  pur- 
pose, it  will  be  only  because  I've  been  preparing 
my  defenses  for  a  good  while  and  have  strong 
patrols  out  at  the  weak  points." 

"I  give  you  fair  warning.  I'll  undermine  it 
yet  if  I  can,"  and  Atchison  gripped  Brown's  hand 
with  fervor  before  he  went  away,  charging  Sue 
Breckenridge  with  the  responsibility  of  bringing 
her  brother  to  the  dinner  to  be  given  that  evening. 

"Now,  what" — said  Brown,  turning  to  his 


138  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

writing-table  when  Atchison  had  gone,  and  ab- 
sently picking  up  a  bronze  paper-weight  which 
lay  there — "put  it  into  his  head  to  fire  a  dinner 
at  me  the  moment  he  knew  I  was  here?  " 

"We  all  have  a  suspicion,"  said  Sue,  watching 
him  as  she  spoke,  "  that  he  and  Helena  are  ready 
to  annoimce  their  engagement.  It  may  have 
popped  into  his  head  that  with  you  here  it  was 
just  the  time  to  do  it.  Of  course,"  she  went  on 
hurriedly,  in  answer  to  something  she  thought 
she  saw  leap  into  her  brother's  face,  "we  don't 
absolutely  know  that  they're  engaged.  Hft's 
been  devoted  for  a  good  while,  and  since  he's 
never  been  much  that  sort  with  women  it  looks 
as  if  it  meant  something." 

"It  looks  it  on  his  part,"  said  Brown,  opening 
a  drawer  in  the  table  and  appearing  to  search 
thereiQ.     "Does  it  look  it  on  hers?" 

"Not  markedly  so.  But  Helena's  getting  on 
— she  must  be  twenty-six  or  seven — and  she  al- 
ways seems  happy  with  him.    Of  course  that's 


BROWN'S  OLD  WORLD  139 

no  evidence,  for  she  has  such  a  charmingly 
clever  way  with  men  you  never  can  tell  when 
she's  bored — and  certainly  they  can't.  It's 
just  that  it  seems  such  a  splendidly  j&tting  match 
we're  confident  there's  ground  for  our  expecta- 
tions." 

"  I  see.  Altogether,  that  dinner  promises  well 
for  sensations — of  one  sort  or  another.  Mean- 
while, shall  we  pitch  into  business?" 

Together  they  went  through  Brown's  apart- 
ment, which  was  a  large  one,  and  comprised 
everything  which  he  had  once  considered  neces- 
sary to  the  comfort  of  a  bachelor  establishment. 
As  he  looked  over  that  portion  of  the  place  per- 
taining to  the  cooking  and  serving  of  food  he 
smiled  rather  grimly  at  the  contrast  it  inevitably 
brought  to  his  mind.  Standing  before  the  well- 
filled  shelves  in  the  butler's  pantry  he  eyed  a 
certain  cherished  set  of  Sevres  china,  thinking  of 
the  cheap  blue-and-white  ware  which  now  filled 
all  his  needs,  and  recalling  with  a  sense  of  amuse- 


I40  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

ment  the  days,  not  so  long  past,  when  he  would 
have  considered  himseK  ill  served  had  his  break- 
fast appeared  in  such  dishes. 

"  It's  all  in  the  way  you  look  at  it,  Sue,"  he  ex- 
claimed, opening  the  doors  of  leaded  glass  and 
taking  down  a  particularly  choice  example  of  the 
ceramic  art  in  the  shape  of  a  large  Satsuma  plate. 
"Look  at  that,  now!  Why  should  a  chop  taste 
any  better  off  that  plate  than  off  the  one  I  ate 
from  this  morning  at  daybreak?  It  tastes  no 
better — I  vow  it  doesn't  taste  as  good.  I've  a 
keener  appetite  now  than  last  year,  when  Sing 
Lee,  my  Chinese  cook,  was  cudgelling  his  Asiatic 
brains  to  tempt  me." 

"That's  not  the  way  I  look  at  it,"  Sue  an- 
swered mournfully.  "To  me  it  makes  all  the 
difference  in  the  world  how  food  is  served,  not  to 
mention  how  it  is  cooked.  Do  you  ever  have 
anything  but  bacon  and  eggs  at  that  dreadful 
place  of  yoiu-s?  " 

"Bless  your  heart,  yes!    I  don't  deny  myself 


BROWN'S  OLD  WORLD  141 

good  food,  child — ^get  that  out  of  your  mind. 
Why,  just  night  before  last  Jennings  and  I  had 
an  oyster  roast,  on  the  half-shell,  over  the  coals 
in  my  fireplace.  My  word,  but  they  were  good ! 
If  Webb  can  give  us  anything  better  than  that 
to-night  he'll  siuprise  me." 

"Who  is  Jennings?  A  laimdryman  or  a 
policeman?  " 

"Neither.  Jennings  is  a  clerk  in  the  office  of 
a  great  wholesale  hardw^are  house.  He  was 
down  on  his  luck,  a  while  back,  but  he's  pulled 
out  of  his  trouble.  When  his  wife's  caUed  out  of 
town,  as  she  often  is  by  the  old  people  back 
home,  he  keeps  me  company.  He's  particularly 
fond  of  roasted  oysters,  is  Jennings,  since  a  cer- 
tain night  when  I  introduced  them  to  his  im- 
accustomed  palate.  It's  great  fim  to  see  him 
devour  them." 

Sue  shook  her  head  again.  She  could  seem  to 
do  little  else  these  days,  being  in  a  perpetual  state 
of  wonder  and  regret  over  that  which  she  could 


142  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

not  understand — quite  as  her  brother  had  said. 
He  sent  her  away  an  hour  before  luncheon 
time,  telling  her  that  he  would  follow  when  he 
had  attended  to  certain  matters  in  which  she 
could  not  help.  Having  put  her  into  her  car, 
he  waved  a  cheery  hand  at  her  as  she  drove 
away,  and  returned  to  his  apartment.  He  lin- 
gered a  little  at  the  lift  to  ask  after  the 
welfare  of  the  yoimg  man  who  operated  it,  whom 
he  had  known  in  past  days;  but  presently  he  was 
in  his  library  again  with  the  door  locked  behind 
him.  And  here  for  a  brief  space  business  was 
suspended. 

Before  the  big  leather  chair  he  fell  upon  his 
knees,  burying  his  head  in  his  arms. 

"Oh,  good  Father y^  said  Brown,  just  above  his 
breath,  "only  Thou  canst  help  me  through  this 
thing.  It^s  even  harder  than  I  thought  it  would 
he.  I  want  the  old  life,  I  want  the  old  love — my 
heart  is  weak  within  me  at  the  thought  of  giving 
them  up.     .     .     .     /  know  the  temptation  comes 


BROWN'S  OLD  WORLD  143 

not  from  without  hut  from  within.  It^s  my  own 
weak  self  that  is  my  enemy,  fwt  the  lure  of  the  life 
Fm  giving  up.  .  .  .  Give  me  strength — 
fighting  strength.  .  .  .  Help  me — ^  not  to  give 
in  while  I  can  stand  and  see  J" 

Presently  he  rose  to  his  feet.  He  was  pale, 
but  in  his  face  showed  the  renewed  strength  of 
purpose  he  had  asked  for.  He  set  about  the 
task  of  packing  the  few  things  he  meant  to  take 
with  him,  working  with  a  certain  unhurried 
eflSciency  which  accomplished  no  small  amount 
in  that  hour  before  luncheon.  Then  he  de- 
scended to  find  his  sister's  car  waiting  for  him, 
and  was  whirled  away. 


xm 

BROWN'S  TRIAL  BY  FLOOD 

At  nine  o'clock  that  night,  feeling  a  little  as  if 
he  were  in  some  sort  of  famihar  dream,  Brown, 
wearing  evening  dress  for  the  first  time  in 
more  than  a  year,  sat  looking  about  him.  He 
was  at  Mrs.  Brainard's  right  hand,  in  the  post 
of  the  guest  of  honour,  for  Mrs.  Brainard 
was  playing  hostess  for  her  bachelor  friend, 
Webb  Atchison,  in  the  apartment  of  the 
princely  up-town  hotel  which  was  his  more  or 
less  permanent  home. 

About  the  great  round  table  were  gathered  a 

goodly  company — the  company  of  Brown's  old 

friends  among  the  rich  and  eminent  of  the  city. 

Not  only  men  of  great  wealth,  but  men  dis- 

144 


BROWN'S  TRIAL  BY  FLOOD  145 

tinguished  in  their  professions,  noted  for  their 
achievements,  and  honoured  for  their  public 
services,  were  among  those  hurriedly  asked  to  do 
this  man  honour.  They  had  all  been  more  or 
less  constant  members  of  his  congregation  dur- 
ing the  years  when  he  was  making  a  name  as 
the  most  forceful  and  fearless  young  preacher 
who  ever  ventured  to  teU  the  people  of 
aristocratic  St.  Timothy's  what  he  thought  of 
them. 

And  they  were  gathered  to-night  to  tell  him 
what  they  thought  of  him.  They  were  sparing 
no  pains  to  do  so.  More  than  once,  while  he 
parried  their  attacks  upon  his  resolution  to  leave 
them  permanently,  parried  them  with  a  smiling 
face,  with  a  resolute  quiet  voice,  with  the  quick- 
ness of  return  thrust  for  which  he  was  famous  in 
debate,  he  was  inwardly  sending  up  one  oft- 
repeated,  pregnant  petition:  "Lor^,  help  me 
through  this— for  Thy  sake  /" 

They  were  not  men  alone  who   combined 


146  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

against  him  with  every  pressure  of  argument; 
there  were  women  present  who  used  upon  him 
every  art  of  persuasion.  Not  that  of  speech  alone, 
but  that  subtler  witchery  of  look  and  smile  with 
which  such  women  well  know  how  to  make  their 
soft  blows  tell  more  surely  than  harder  ones 
from  other  hands.  Among  these,  all  of  whom 
were  women  of  charm  and  distinction  after  one 
fashion  or  another,  was  one  who  alone,  though 
she  seemed  to  be  making  no  direct  attack,  was 
waging  the  heaviest  war  of  all  against  Donald 
Brown's  determination. 

Atchison,  in  arranging  the  places  of  his  guests, 
had  put  Helena  Forrest  at  Brown's  right,  at  the 
sacrifice  of  his  own  pleasure,  for  by  this  con- 
cession she  was  farthest  from  himself.  Whether 
or  not  he  understood  how  peculiarly  deadly  was 
the  weapon  he  thus  used  against  his  friend,  he 
knew  that  Helena  was  capable  of  exerting  a 
powerful  influence  upon  any  man — how  should 
he  himself  not  know  it,  who  was  at  her  feet?   He 


BROWN'S  TRIAL  BY  FLOOD  147 

had  no  compunction  in  bringing  that  influence 
to  bear  upon  Brown  at  this  moment,  when  the 
actual  word  of  withdrawal  had  not  yet  been 
spoken. 

Yet  as  from  time  to  time  Atchison  looked  to- 
ward these  two  of  his  guests  he  wondered  if  Helena 
were  doing  all  she  could  in  the  cause  in  which  he 
had  enlisted  her.  She  was  saying  little  to 
Brown,  he  could  see  that;  and  Brown  was  saying 
even  less  to  her.  Each  seemed  more  occupied 
with  the  neighbour  upon  the  farther  side  than 
with  the  other.  Just  what  this  meant  Atchison 
could  not  be  sure. 

The  dinner,  an  affau:  of  surprising  magnifi- 
cence considering  the  brief  hours  of  its  prepara- 
tion, drew  at  length  to  its  close.  It  seemed  to 
Brown  that  he  had  been  sitting  at  that  table,  in 
the  midst  of  the  old  environment  in  which  he 
had  once  been  carelessly  happy  and  assured,  for 
hours  upon  end,  before  the  signal  came  at  last 
for  the  departure  of  the  women.    And  even  then 


148  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

he  knew  that  after  they  had  gone  the  worst  was 
probably  to  come. 

It  came.  Left  alone  with  him,  the  men  of  the 
party  redoubled  their  attacks.  With  every 
argument,  renewed  and  recast,  they  assaulted 
him.  He  withstood  them,  refusing  at  the 
last  to  argue,  merely  lifting  his  head  with  a 
characteristic  gesture  of  determination,  smiling 
wearily,  and  saying  with  imshaken  purpose: 
"It's  no  use,  gentlemen.  I've  made  up 
my  mind.  I'm  sorry  you  think  I'm  wrong, 
but  I  can't  help  that,  since  I  beheve  I'm 
right." 

They  could  not  credit  their  own  failure,  these 
men  of  power,  so  accustomed  to  having  things 
go  their  way  that  they  were  unable  to  under- 
stand even  the  possibility  of  being  defeated. 
And  they  were  being  defeated  by  a  man  whom 
they  had  never  admired  more — and  they  had 
made  him,  as  Sue  Breckenridge  had  said,  the 
idol  of  the  great  church — than  now  when  he  re- 


BROWN'S  TRIAL  BY  FLOOD  149 

fused  them.  But  they,  quite  naturally,  did  not 
show  him  that.  They  showed  him  disappoint- 
ment, chagrin,  cynicism,  disbeHef  in  his  judg- 
ment, everything  that  could  make  his  heart  beat 
hard  and  painfully  with  the  weight  of  their  dis- 
pleasure. 

Suddenly  he  rose  to  his  feet.  A  hush  fell,  for 
they  thought  he  was  going  to  speak  to  them.  He 
was  silent  for  a  minute,  looking  down  at  these 
old  friends  who  were  so  fond  of  him;  then  he 
opened  his  mouth.  But  not  to  speak — ^to 
sing. 

It  was  a  powerful  asset  of  Donald  Brown*s, 
and  it  had  never  been  more  powerful  than 
now,  this  voice  which  had  been  given  him  of 
heaven.  Tliey  had  often  heard  him  before  but 
now,  under  these  strange  circumstances,  they 
listened  with  fresh  amazement  to  the  beauty  of 
his  tones.  Every  word  fell  clean-cut  upon  their 
ears,  every  note  was  rich  with  feeling,  as  Brown 
in  this  strange  fashion  made  his  -plea,  took  his 


I50  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

stand  with  George  Matheson's  deathless  words 
of  passionate  loyalty : 


"Make  me  a  captive,  Lord, 

And  then  I  shall  be  free; 
Force  me  to  render  up  my  sword, 

And  I  shall  conqueror  be. 
I  sink  in  life's  alarms 

When  by  myself  I  stand; 
Imprison  me  within  Thy  arms, 

And  strong  shall  be  my  hand." 


When  they  looked  up,  these  men,  they 
saw  that  the  women  of  the  party  had  come 
back  to  the  doors,  drawn  by  an  irresistible 
force. 

In  a  strange  silence,  broken  only  by  low- 
spoken  words,  the  whole  company  returned  to 
the  living-rooms  of  the  apartment.  Here 
Brown  himself  broke  the  spell  he  had  laid  upon 
them. 

Speaking  in  the  ringing  voice  they  knew  of 
old,  and  with  a  gesture  of  both  arms  outflung  as 


BROWN'S  TRIAL  BY  FLOOD  151 

if  he  threw  himself  upon  their  friendship,  he 
cried  blithely: 

"Ah,  give  me  a  good  time  now,  dear  people! 
Let  me  play  I'm  yours  and  you  are  mine  again — 
just  for  to-night." 

That  settled  it.  Webb  Atchison  brought  his 
hand  down  upon  his  victim's  shoulder  with  a 
resounding  friendly  blow,  calling: 

"He's  right.  We've  given  him  a  bad  two 
hours  of  it.  Let's  make  it  up  to  him,  and  let  him 
have  the  right  sort  of  send-off — since  he  will  go. 
He  will — there's  no  possible  question  of  that. 
So  let's  part  friends." 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Brown,  smiling  in  the 
midst  of  the  faces  which  now  gave  him  back  his 
smile,  "  but  that  if  you  are  kind  to  me  you'U  test 
my  endurance  stiU  more  heavily.  But — ^we'll 
risk  it." 

The  scene  now  became  a  gay  one — gay,  at 
least,  upon  the  surface.  Brown  was  his  old  self 
again,  the  one  they  had  known,  and  he  was  the 


152  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

centre  of  the  good-fellowship  which  now  reigned. 
So,  for  a  time.  Then  came  the  supreme  test  of 
his  life — ^as  unexpectedly  as  such  tests  come, 
when  a  man  thinks  he  has  won  through  to  the 
thin  edge  of  the  struggle. 


XIV 
BROWN'S  TRIAL  BY  FIRE 

He  had  gone  alone  into  a  den  of  Atchison's, 
where  was  kept  a  medley  of  books  and  pipes  and 
weapons,  a  bachelor  collection  of  trophies  of  all 
sorts.  He  was  in  search  of  a  certain  loving-cup 
which  had  been  mentioned  and  asked  for,  and 
Atchison  himself  had  for  the  moment  left  the 
apartment  to  see  an  insistent  caller  below.  The 
den  was  at  some  distance  from  the  place  where 
the  company  was  assembled,  and  Brown  could 
bear  their  voices  only  in  the  remote  distance  as 
he  searched. 

Suddenly  a  light  sound  as  of  the  movement  of 

silken  draperies  fell  upon  his  ear,  and  at  the  same 

instant  a  low  voice  spoke.    He  swung  about,  to 

153 


154  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

see  a  figure  before  him  at  sight  of  which,  alone  as 
he  had  been  with  it  for  months,  he  felt  his  un- 
subdued heart  leap  in  his  breast.  By  her  face 
he  knew  she  had  followed  him  for  a  purpose.  He 
let  her  speak. 

"Donald  Brown,"  she  said — and  she  spoke 
fast  and  breathlessly,  as  if  she  feared,  as  he  did, 
instant  interruption  and  this  were  her  only 
chance — "what  you  have  said  to-night  makes 
me  forget  everything  but  what  I  want  you  to 
know." 

Quite  evidently  her  heart  was  beating  syn- 
chronously with  his,  for  he  could  see  how  it 
shook  her.  He  stared  at  her,  at  the  lovely  line 
and  colour  of  cheek  and  chin,  at  the  wonderful 
shadowed  eyes,  at  the  soft  darkness  of  her  heavy 
hair.  She  was  wearing  misty  white  to-night, 
with  one  great  red  rose  upon  her  breast;  she  was 
such  a  sight  as  might  well  blind  a  man,  even  if  he 
were  not  already  blind  with  love  of  her.  The 
fragrance  of  the  rose  was  in  his  nostrils — ^it 


BROWN'S  TRIAL  BY  FIRE  155 

assailed  his  senses  as  if  it  were  a  part  of  her,  its 
fragrance  hers.    But  he  did  not  speak. 

"You  asked  me  something  once,"  she  went  on, 
with  an  evident  ejGFort.  "Would  you  mind  tell- 
ing me  if— if " 

But  he  would  not  help  her.  He  could  not  be- 
lieve he  understood  what  she  meant  to  say. 

"You  make  it  very  hard  for  me,"  she  mur- 
mured. "  Yet  I  believe  I  understand  why,  if  this 
thing  is  ever  said  at  all,  I  must  be  the  one  to  say 
it .    Do  you — Donald — do  you — still — care? ' ' 

"0  Co/./"  he  cried  in  his  heart.  "0  God! 
Couldn't  You  have  spared  me  this  ?  " 

But  aloud,  after  an  instant,  he  said,  a  little 
thickly,  "  I  think  you  know  without  asking.  I 
shall  never  stop  caring." 

She  lifted  her  eyes.     "Then "  and  she 

waited. 

He  must  speak.  She  had  done  her  part.  His 
head  swam  with  the  sudden  astounding  revela- 
uon  that  she  was  his  for  the  taking,  if Ah, 


I5i  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

but  the  if  1  He  knew  too  well  what  that  must 
mean. 

"Are  you  temptmg  me,  too?"  he  asked,  with 
sudden  fierceness.  "  Do  you  mean — like  all  the 
rest — ^I  may  have  you  if — ^I  give  up  my  purpose 
and  stay  here?" 

Mutely  her  eyes  searched  his.  Dumb  with 
the  agony  of  it  his  searched  hers  in  retiun.  He 
turned  away. 

"Don!"  Her  voice  was  all  low  music.  The 
words  vibrated  appealingly ;  she  had  seen  what  it 
meant  to  him.  She  put  out  one  hand  as  if  to 
touch  him — and  drew  it  back.  "Listen  to  me, 
please.  I  know — ^I  know — ^what  a  wonderful 
sacrifice  you  are  making.  I  admire  and  honour 
you  for  it — ^I  do.  But — think  once  more.  This 
great  parish — surely  there  is  work  for  you 
here,  wonderful  work.  Won't  you  do  it — with 
me?" 

He  looked  at  her  with  sudden  decision  on  bis 
course. 


BROWN'S  TRIAL  BY  FIRE  157 

"You  left  that  photograph?"  He  spt^e 
huskily. 

She  nodded. 

"You  left  it  there,  in  my  poor  house.  I've 
cherished  it  there.  It  hasn't  suffered.  You 
wouldn't  suffer.  Will  you  live — and  work — 
with  me — there  ?  " 

"  Oh ! "    She  drew  back.     "  How  can  you 

Do  you  realize  what  you  ask?" 

"  I  don't  ask  it  expecting  to  receive  it.  I  know 
it's  impossible — ^from  your  viewpoint.  But — 
it's — all  I  have  to  ask " 

He  broke  off,  fighting  savagely  with  the  desire 
to  seize  her  in  his  arms  that  was  aU  but  over* 
mastering  him. 

She  moved  away  a  step  in  her  turn,  standing 
with  down-bent  head,  the  partial  line  of  her 
profile,  the  curve  of  her  neck  and  beautiful 
shoulder,  presenting  an  even  greater  appeal  to 
the  devouring  flame  of  his  longing  than  her  eyes 
had  done.    It  seemed  to  him  that  he  would  give 


IS8  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

the  heart  out  of  his  body  even  to  press  his  lips 
upon  that  fair  flesh  just  below  the  low-drooping 
masses  of  her  hair,  flesh  exquisite  as  a  child's 
in  contrast  with  the  dark  locks  above  it.  All 
the  long  months  of  his  exile  pressed  upon  him 
with  mighty  force  to  urge  him  to  assuage  his 
loneliness  with  this  divine  balm. 

Suddenly  she  spoke,  just  above  a  whisper. 
"I  wonder,"  she  said,  "if  any  woman  ever 
humiliated  herself — like  this — to  be  so  refused." 

He  answered  that  with  swift,  eager  words: 
"It  is  the  most  womanly,  the  most  wonderful 
thing,  any  woman  could  do  for  a  man.  I  shall 
never  forget  it,  or  cease  to  honour  you  for  it.  I 
love  you — love  you — for  it — ten  thousand  times 
more  than  I  loved  you  before,  if  that  can  be.  I 
must  say  it.  I  must  put  it  into  words  that  you 
and  I  can  both  remember,  or  I  think  my  heart  will 
burst.  But — Helena — I  have  vowed  this  vow 
to  my  God.  I  have  put  my  hand  to  this  plow. 
I  can't  turn  back — not  even  for  you.    No  man, 


BROWN'S  TRIAL  BY  FIRE  159 

having  done  that,  'and  looking  back,  is  fit  for  the 
kingdom  of  God  J  He  isn't  fit  for  the  kingdoms 
of  earth,  either.    He  isn't  fit  for— hell ! ' ' 

Very  slowly  she  moved  away  from  him,  her 
head  still  drooping.  At  the  door  she  did  not 
pause  and  look  back,  actress-like,  to  try  him 
with  one  more  look.  She  went  like  a  wounded 
thing.  And  at  the  sight,  the  wild  impulse  to 
rush  after  her  and  cry  to  her  that  nothing  in  the 
wide  universe  mattered,  so  that  she  should  lift 
that  head  and  lay  it  on  his  breast,  gripped  him 
and  wnmg  him,  till  drops  of  moisture  started  out 
upon  his  forehead,  and  he  turned  sick.  Then 
she  was  out  of  sight,  and  he  stood  grasping  the 
back  of  a  chair,  fighting  for  control.  This  was  a 
dinner-party — a  dinner-party!  Kind  God  in 
heaven !  And  he  and  she  must  go  back  to  those 
other  people  and  smile  and  talk,  must  somehow 
cover  it  all  up.  How  was  it  conceivably  to  be 
done? 

She  could  do  it,  perhaps.    After  all,  it  could 


c6o  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

not  be  the  soul-stirring  thing  to  her  that  it  was  to 
him.  She  loved  him  enough  to  be  his  wife — 
under  the  old  conditions.  She  did  not  love 
him  enough  to  go  with  him  as  his  wife 
into  the  new  conditions.  Then  she  could  not  be 
suffering  as  he  was  suffering.  Wounded  pride — 
she  was  feeling  that,  no  doubt  of  it — woimded 
pride  is  not  a  pleasant  thing  to  feel.  She  loved 
him  somewhat,  loved  him  enough  to  take  the  in- 
itiative in  this  scene  to-night.  But  real  love — 
she  could  Qot  know  what  that  was,  or  she  would 
follow  him  to  the  ends  of  the  earth.  It  was  the 
woman's  part  to  follow,  not  the  man's.  Hers  to 
give  up  her  preference  for  his  duty.  Since  she 
could  not  do  this,  she  did  not  really  love  him. 
This  was  the  bitterest  drop  in  the  whole  bitter 
cup! 

Footsteps  came  rapidly  along  the  corridor^ 
Webb  Atchison  appeared  in  the  doorway.  At 
the  first  soimd  of  his  return  Brown  had  wheeled 
and  was  foimd  standing  before  a  cabinet,  in 


BROWN'S  TRIAL  BY  FIRE  i6i 

which  behind  glass  doors  was  kept  a  choice  col" 
lection  of  curios  from  all  parts  of  the  world.  He 
was  trying  to  summon  words  to  explain  that  he 
was  looking  for  a  certain  loving-cup — a  loving- 
cup — when  one  had  just  been  presented,  fuU  to 
overflowing,  to  his  thirsty  lips,  and  he  had  re- 
fused to  drink ! 

But  Atchison  was  fuU  of  his  message. 

"Don,  I've  done  my  best  to  put  the  fellow  ofif, 
but  he  will  see  you.  Hang  it! — to-night  of  all 
nights!  I  don't  know  why  that  following  of 
yours  should  piursue  you  to  this  place.  I  sus- 
pect it  will  be  considerable  of  a  jolt  to  that  chap 
to  see  you  in  an  expanse  of  white  shirt-front. 
But  it  seems  somebody  has  been  taken  worse 
since  you  left,  and  insists  on  seeing  you.  Why 
in  thunder  did  you  leave  an  address  for  them  to 
find  you  at?  " 

By  the  time  Atchison  had  delivered  himself  of 
all  this  Brown  had  hold  of  himself,  could  turn 
and  speak  naturally.    The  news  had  been  like  a 


i62  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

dash  of  cold  water  in  the  face  of  a  fainting 
man. 

"Who  is  worse — Mr.  Benson?" 

"  Think  that  was  the  name — an  old  man.  The 
messenger's  waiting,  though  I  told  him  you  cer- 
tainly couldn't  go  back  to-night." 

"  I  certainly  shaU  go  back  to-night.  Where  is 
he?" 

Expostulating  uselessly,  Atchison  led  the  way. 
Brown  foimd  Andrew  Murdison  standing  with  a 
look  of  dogged  determination  on  his  face,  which 
changed  to  one  of  relief  when  he  saw  Brown.  Old 
Benson,  the  watchmaker,  who  had  been  con- 
valescing from  illness  when  Brown  came  away, 
had  suffered  a  relapse  and  had  probably  but  few 
hours  to  live. 

With  a  brief  leave-taking,  in  the  course  of 
which  Brown  held  for  an  instant  the  hand  of 
Helena  Forrest  and  found  it  cold  as  ice  in  his 
grasp,  he  went  away.  As  the  train  bore  him 
swiftly  back  to  the  place  he  had  left  so  recently, 


BROWN'S  TRIAL  BY  FIRE  163 

certain  words  came  to  him  and  stayed  by  him, 
fitting  themselves  curiously  to  the  rhythmic 
roar  of  the  train: 

^^God  is  faithftU,  who  will  not  suffer  you  to  be 
tempted  above  that  ye  are  able;  but  will  with  the 
temptation  also  make  a  way  to  escape,  tJtat  ye  may 
be  able  to  bear  it" 

And  the  car  wheels,  as  they  turned,  seemed  to 
be  saying,  mile  after  mik:  "  A  way  to  escape — a 
way  to  escape — a  way  to  escape  /" 


XV 
BROWN'S  BROWN  STUDY 


Standing  in  his  kitchen  doorway,  Brown 
looked  out  into  his  back  yard. 

It  was,  in  one  way,  an  unusual  back  yard  for 

that  quarter  of  the  city,  and  ia  that  one  way  it 

differed  from  the  back  yards  of  his  neighbours. 

While  theirs  were  bounded  on  all  sides  by  high 

and  ugly  board  fences,  his  was  encompassed  by  a 

stone  wall  standing  even  higher,  and  enclosing 

the  smaU  area  of  possibly  forty  feet  by  thirty  in  a 

privacy  quite  unknown  elsewhere  in  the  district. 

This  stone  waU  had  been  laid  by  the  EngHshman 

who  had  built  the  house,  his  idea  of  having 

things  to  himself  being  the  product  of  his  early 

life  in  a  country  where  not  only  is  every  man's 

164 


BROWN'S  BROWN  STUDY  165 

house  his  castle,  but  the  surrounding  ground 
thereof,  as  well,  his  domain,  from  which  he  would 
keep  out  every  curious  eye. 

It  was  an  evening  in  mid- April.  Brown  had 
opened  the  big  oak  door  to  let  the  late  western 
light  of  the  spring  day  flood  his  kitchen,  while  he 
washed  and  put  away  the  dishes  lately  used  for 
his  supper — and  for  that  of  a  forlorn  and  Ul-used 
specimen  of  tramp  humanity  who  had  arrived  as 
he  was  sitting  down. 

He  was  presently  to  address  a  gathering  of 
factory  girls  in  a  near-by  schoolhouse;  and  he 
was  trying,  as  he  stood  in  the  door,  with  the  soft 
spring  air  touching  gratefully  his  face,  to  gather 
his  thoughts  together  for  the  coming  talk.  But 
he  was  weary  with  a  long  day's  labours,  and 
somehow  his  eyes  could  summon  no  vision  of  the 
faces  he  was  to  see.    Instead 

"There  ought  to  be  a  garden  back  here,"  he 
said  to  himself.  "If  I'm  to  stay  here  for  the 
coming  y^ar — as  it  looks  as  if  I  must — ^I  should 


i66  •       THE  BROWN  STUDY 

cultivate  this  little  patch  and  make  it  smile  a  bit. 
As  it  is,  it's  doing  no  good  to  anybody,  not  even 
Bim.  He's  pretty  careless  about  his  bones  out 
here,  and  leaves  them  around  instead  of  burying 
'em  decently.  I  must  teach  him  better.  This 
would  be  a  good  place  to  bring  the  children  into, 
if  it  had  some  flowers  in  it." 

The  notion  cheered  him  a  little,  as  the  thought 
of  flowers  in  the  spring  has  a  way  of  doing.  He 
made  a  rough  plan  of  the  garden,  in  his  mind,  lay- 
ing out  beds  of  sturdy  bloom,  training  vines  to 
cover  the  bleak  expanse  of  stone,  even  planting 
a  small  tree  or  two  of  rapid  growth — for  the  ben- 
efit of  whomever  shotdd  follow  him  as  a  tenant 
of  the  old  house.  Presently  he  closed  the  door 
with  some  sense  of  refreshment,  mental  and 
physical,  and  forced  his  thoughts  into  the  chan- 
nel it  was  now  imperative  they  should  occupy. 

He  took  his  way  to  the  meeting  in  the  school- 
house,  however,  with  a  step  less  rapid  than  was 
usually  his.    It  might  have  been  the  enervating 


BROWN'S  BROWN  STUDY  167 

influence  of  the  mild  spring  air;  it  might  have 
been  the  pressure  of  certain  recollections  which 
he  had  not  yet  succeeded,  in  the  two  months 
which  had  passed  since  the  farewell  dinner  at 
Webb  Atchison's,  in  so  putting  aside  that  they 
should  not  often  depress  and  at  times  even  domi- 
nate his  spirit.  Though  he  had  left  the  old  life 
completely  behind  him,  and  had  settled  into  the 
new  with  all  the  conviction  and  purpose  he  could 
summon,  he  was  subject,  especially  when  physi- 
cally weary,  as  to-night,  to  a  heaviness  of  heart 
which  would  not  be  mastered. 

"But  I  must — /  must — stiffen  my  back,"  he 
said  sternly  to  himself,  as  he  neared  the  dingy 
schoolhouse  toward  which,  from  all  directions, 
he  could  see  his  audience  making  its  way.  It 
was  not  the  first  time  he  had  addressed  these 
girls  and  women,  in  so  informal  and  unostenta- 
tious a  manner  that  no  one  of  his  hearers  had  so 
much  as  suspected  his  profession,  but  had  taken 
him  for  one  of  their  own  class.  "  He's  got  a  way 


i68  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

with  him,"  they  put  it,  "  that  makes  you  feel  hke 
you  could  listen  to  him  aU  night."  The  sight  of 
them  now  provided  the  stimulus  he  needed,  and 
as  he  smiled  and  nodded  at  two  or  three  whom 
he  had  personally  met  he  felt  the  old  interest  in 
his  task  coming  to  his  aid. 

And  in  a  brief  space  he  was  standing  before 
them  teUing  them  the  things  he  had  come  to  teU. 
It  was  not  his  message  he  had  lacked — that  had 
been  made  ready  long  before  the  hour — it  was 
only  the  peculiar  power  and  magnetism  of  speech 
and  manner  which  had  been  the  treasure  of  St. 
Timothy's,  that  he  had  felt  himself  unable  to 
summon  as  he  came  to  this  humble  audience. 
But  now,  as  almost  always,  he  was  able  to  use 
every  art  at  his  command  to  capture  their  at- 
tention, to  hold  it,  to  carry  it  from  point  to  point, 
and  finally  to  drive  his  message  home  with  ap- 
pealing force.  And  this  message  was,  as  al- 
ways, the  simple  message  of  behef  in  the  things 
•vhich  make  for  righteousness. 


BROWN'S  BROWN  STUDY  169 

Not  all  his  auditors  could  arrive  on  time; 
they  were  obliged  to  come  when  they  could. 
Brown's  talks  had  to  be  subject  to  constant 
though  painstakingly  muffled  interruptions,  as 
one  after  another  stole  into  the  room.  His  at- 
traction for  his  hearers,  however,  once  he  was 
fairly  launched,  was  so  great  that  there  were  few 
wandering  eyes  or  minds.  Therefore,  to-night, 
when  he  had  been  speaking  for  a  quarter  of  an 
hour,  the  quiet  entrance  of  two  figures  which 
found  places  near  the  door  at  the  back  of  the 
room  disturbed  nobody,  and  caused  only  a  few 
heads  to  turn  in  their  direction. 

Those  who  did  note  the  arrivals  saw  that  they 
were  strangers  to  the  assembly.  They  saw 
something  else,  also,  though  they  could  not  have 
told  what  it  was.  The  two  women,  one  young, 
one  of  middle  age,  were  plainly  dressed  in  cheap 
suits  of  dark  serge,  such  as  many  of  the  work- 
ing-women were  wearing.  Their  hats  were  of  the 
sin^Iest  and  most  inexpensive  design,  though 


17©  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

lacking  any  of  the  commonplace  finery  to  be  seen 
everywhere  throughout  the  room.  But  there 
was  about  the  pau:  an  imdeniable  since  uncon- 
cealable  air  of  difference,  of  refinement  if  it  were 
only  in  the  manner  in  which  they  slipped  into 
their  seats  and  fixed  their  eyes  upon  the  speaker, 
with  no  glances  to  right  or  left.  The  eyes  which 
noted  them  noted  also  that  both  were  possessed 
of  faces  such  as  need  no  accessories  of  environ- 
ment to  make  them  hold  the  gaze  of  all  about 
them. 

"Settlement  folks,"  guessed  one  girl  to  an- 
other, with  a  slight  curl  of  the  lip. 

"Sh-h — 1  Who  cares  what  they  are  when 
he^s  talking"  gave  back  the  other — and  settled 
again  to  Hstening. 

Brown  had  seen  the  newcomers,  but  they  were 
far  back  in  the  room,  which  was  by  no  means 
brilliantly  lighted,  and  beneath  the  shadows  of 
their  hats  there  was  for  him  no  hint  of  acquaint- 
ance.   He  therefore  proceeded,  untrammelled  by 


BROWN'S  BROWN  STUDY  171 

a  knowledge  which  would  surely  have  been  his 
undoing  had  he  possessed  it  at  that  stage  of  the 
evening.  He  went  on  interesting,  touching,  ap- 
pealing to  his  hsteners,  waging  war  upon  their 
hearts  with  all  the  skiU  known  to  the  valiant, 
forceful  speaker.  Yet  such  was  his  apparent 
simplicity  of  method  that  he  seemed  to  all  but 
two  of  those  who  heard  him  to  be  merely  talking 
with  them  about  the  things  which  concerned 
them. 

His  was  not  the  ordinary  effort  of  the  ama- 
teur social  worker — such  though  he  felt  himself 
to  be.  He  had  not  a  word  to  say  to  his  hearers 
about "  conditions  " ;  he  gave  them  no  impression 
of  having  studied  them  and  their  environment 
till  he  knew  more  about  it  all  than  they  did — or 
thought  he  did.  He  brought  to  them  only  what 
they  felt,  consciously  or  imconsciously,  to  be  an 
intimate  understanding  of  the  human  heart, 
whether  it  were  found  beating  under  the  coarse 
garments  of  the  factory  hand  or  the  silken  ones 


17a  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

of  the  "swells  up-town."  Gently  but  search- 
ingly  he  showed  them  their  own  hearts,  showed 
them  the  ugly  things,  the  strainge  things,  the 
wonderful  things,  of  their  own  hearts — and  then, 
when  he  had  those  hearts  beating  heavily  and 
painfully  before  him,  applied  the  healing  balm  of 
his  message.  Hard  eyes  grew  soft,  weary  faces 
brightened,  despairing  mouths  set  with  new  re- 
solve, and  when  the  hour  ended  there  seemed  a 
clearer  atmosphere,  a  different  spirit,  in  the 
crowded  room,  than  that  which  earHer  had  per- 
vaded it. 

"Say,  ain't  he  what  I  told  you?"  One  girl, 
passing  near  the  two  strangers  as  the  company 
dispersed,  inquired  of  another.  "Don't  it  seem 
like  he  knows  what  you  don't  know  yourself 
about  how  you're  fedin'?  " 

"You  can't  be  so  down  in  the  mouth  when 
you're  listenin'  to  him,"  was  another  comment 
which  reached  ears  strained  to  attention.  "You 
feel  like  there  was  some  good  livin',  after  all. 


BROWN'S  BROWN  STUDY  173 

Did  Liz  come,  d^ye  know?  She  needs  some- 
thin*  to  make  her  buck  up.  If  she'd  jest  hear 
him " 

Brown  remained  in  the  room  till  ahnost  the 
last  were  gone.  The  two  strangers  waited  at  the 
door,  their  backs  turned  to  the  room,  as  if  in  con- 
ference. Several  women  stayed  to  speak  with 
the  man  who  had  talked  to  them,  and  the  waiting 
ones  could  hear  his  low  tones,  the  same  friendly, 
comprehending,  interested  tones  to  which  St. 
Timothy's  had  grown  so  happily  accustomed. 
At  length  the  last  Hngerer  passed  the  two  by  the 
ioor,  and  Brown,  approaching,  spoke  to  them. 

"  Did  you  want  to  see  me?  Is  there  anything 
I  can  do?"  he  began — and  the  two  strangers 
turned. 

His  astonished  gaze  fell  first  upon  Mrs.  Brain- 
ard,  her  fine  and  glowing  eyes  fixed  upon  him 
with  both  mirth  and  tenderness  in  their  look. 
She  had  been  deeply  touched  by  the  sights  and 
sounds  of  the  hour  just  passed,  yet  the  surprise 


174  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

she  had  in  store  for  her  friend,  Donald  Brown, 
was  moving  her  also,  and  her  smile  at  him  from 
under  the  plain  little  hat  she  wore  was  a  brilliant 
one.  But  he  stared  at  her  for  a  full  ten  seconds 
before  he  could  beUeve  the  testimony  of  his  eyes. 
Was  this — could  this  poss  bly  be — the  lady  of  the 
distinguished  dress  and  bearing,  who  stood  before 
him  in  her  cheap  suit  of  serge,  with  a  httle  gray 
cotton  glove  upon  the  hand  she  held  out  to  him? 

He  seized  the  hand  and  wrung  it,  as  if  the  very 
contact  was  much  to  him.  His  face  broke  into  a 
smile  of  joy  as  he  said  fervently,  "I  don't  know 
how  this  happens,  but  it's  enough  for  me  that  it 
does." 

"I'm  not  the  only  one  present,  Don,"  said  the 
lady,  laughing,  and  turned  to  her  companion. 

If  he  had  given  the  second  figure  a  thought  as 
he  recognized  his  old  friend,  it  was  to  suppose  her 
some  working-girl  who  had  conducted  the 
stranger  to  the  place.  But  now  he  looked,  and 
saw  Helena  Forrest. 


BROWN'S  BROWN  STUDY  175 

"  You  /"  he  breathed,  and  stood  transfixed. 

Miss  Forrest  had  always  been,  though  never 
conspicuously  dressed,  such  a  figure  of  quiet  ele- 
gance that  one  who  knew  her  could  almost 
recognize  her  with  her  face  quite  out  of  sight. 
Now,  without  a  single  accessory  of  the  sort  which 
stands  for  high-bred  fashion,  her  beauty  flashed 
at  Brown  like  that  of  one  bright  star  in  a  sky  of 
midnight  gloom.  She  was  not  smiling,  she  was 
looking  straight  at  him  with  her  wonderful  eyes, 
and  in  them  was  a  strange  and  bewildering 
appeal. 

For  a  moment  he  could  not  speak — he,  who 
had  been  so  eloquent  within  her  hearing  for  the 
hour  past.  He  looked  at  her,  and  looked  again 
at  Mrs.  Brainard,  and  back  at  Helena  again,  and 
then  he  stammered,  "I  can't — quite — ^beheve 
it  is  you — either  of  you ! "  and  laughed  at  his  own 
confusion,  his  face  flushing  darkly  under  the 
skin,  clear  to  the  roots  of  the  heavy  locks  on  his 
forehead. 


176  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

"But  you  see  it  is,"  said  Helena's  low  voice. 
*'We  are  confident  of  that  ourselves,  for  the 
journey  has  seemed  a  long  one,  under  two 
smothering  veils.  And  we  hadn't  the  easiest 
time  finding  you." 

Brown  recovered  himself.  "  You  didn't  motor 
over  this  time,  then?" 

"  The  last  time  we  were  here,"  Mrs.  Brainard 
reminded  him,  "you  told  us  quite  frankly  that 
you  didn't  care  to  have  yom:  friends  arrive  in 
hmousines,  or  in  velvet  and  sables.  So — ^we 
have  left  both  behind." 

"  I  see  you  have.  It  was  wonderfully  kind  of 
you,  though  the  disguise  is  by  no  means  a  per- 
fect one.  I  wonder  if  you  can  possibly  think, 
either  of  you,  that  you  looked  like  the  rest  of  my 
audience!" 

"Did  you  know  us  when  we  came  in?" 
questioned  Mrs.  Brainard,  with  a  merry  glance. 
"I  think  you  did  not,  Mr.  Donald  Brown!" 

"How  long  have  you  been  here?" 


BROWN'S  BROWN  STUDY  177 

"We  must  have  come  in  near  the  begmning 
of  your  talk.  You  didn't  even  see  us  then,  did 
you?" 

"  I  saw  two  figures  which  looked  strange  to  me 
—but— the  lights " 

"Oh,  yes,"  agreed  the  lady,  gayly,  "the  lights 
were  poor.  And  you  saw  two  working-women 
who  were  merely  strangers  to  you,  so  you  didn't 
look  again." 

"I'm  glad  I  didn't  recognize  you." 

"  Why?  We  rather  hoped  you  would — didn't 
we,  dear?" 

She  looked  at  her  companion,  who  nodded, 
smiling. 

"We  both  hoped  and  feared,  I  think,"  Helena 
said. 

"  I  couldn't  have  gone  stumbling  on,"  Brown 
explained.  "I  should  have  had  to  dismiss  the 
meeting,  telling  them  I  had  a  rush  of  blood  to  the 
head — or  to  the  heart!" 

At  this  moment  he  was  helped  out  by  the 


178  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

abrupt  opening  of  the  door  beside  him.  A 
grimy-faced  janitor  looked  in,  wearing  an  ex- 
pression of  surly  dissatisfaction.  When  he  saw 
Brown  the  expression  softened  slightly,  as  if  he 
knew  a  friend  when  he  beheld  him,  but  he  did  not 
withdraw.  Brown  rallied  his  absorbed  faculties 
to  appreciate  what  late  hours  meant  to  that  busy 
janitor. 

"Just  leaving,  Mr.  Simpson,"  he  said  cheer- 
fully, and  led  his  visitors  out  into  the  school's 
anteroom. 

"Are  you  at  a  hotel?"  he  asked,  with  eager- 
ness,  of  Mrs.  Brainard.  "How  can  I — where 
can  I " 

"We  ran  away,"  explained  that  lady 
promptly.  "Not  a  soul  knows  where  we  are. 
We  did  not  register  at  a  hotel,  for  this  is  a  secret 
expedition.  V\^e  take  the  eleven-fifteen  train 
back.  Meanwhile,  Don,  am  I  not  an  acceptable 
chaperon?  And  won't  my  presence  make  it  en- 
tirely proper  for  us  to  break  a  bit  of  bread  with 


BROWN'S  BROWN  STUDY  179 

you  in  your  bachelor  home?  We  had  only  after- 
noon tea  before  we  left.  We  are  very  hungry — 
or  I  am!" 

"  Oh,  if  you  will  only  do  that ! "  he  said  with  an 
inflection  of  great  pleasure.  "  I  shall  be  so  tre- 
mendously honoured  I  shall  hardly  know  how  to 
express  it.  I  hope  I  have  something  for  you  fit 
to  eat.    If  I  haven't " 

"Bacon  and  eggs,"  said  Mrs.  Brainard,  with 
twinkling  eyes,  "are  what  your  sister  Sue  in- 
sists you  Uve  on.  Never  in  my  life  did  I  have 
such  a  longing  for  bacon  and  eggs!" 

"Then  you  shall  have  them — or  an  omelet 
garnished  with  bacon.  And  the  comer  grocery 
has  some  lettuce  and  radishes.  I  believe  I  can 
even  achieve  a  salad." 

Brown  led  the  way  through  the  ill-lighted 
streets,  not  talking  as  he  might  have  done  in  an- 
other quarter  of  the  city,  but  hurrying  them  past 
places  he  could  not  bear  to  have  them  see,  and 
making  one  detour  to  avoid  taking  them  through 


i8o  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

the  poorest  part  of  the  neighbourhood.  It  was 
by  no  means  a  dangerous  neighbourhood,  but 
somehow  he  felt  with  these  two  rare  women  on 
his  hands,  as  if  he  must  guard  them  even  from 
the  ordinary  sights  to  be  had  in  the  districts  of 
the  working  class.  And  as  he  walked  by  their 
side  it  came  upon  him,  as  it  had  never  done  with 
such  force  before,  that  he  could  never  seriously 
ask  any  woman  from  his  own  world  to  come  and 
face  such  a  life  as  the  one  he  had  chosen  for  the 
active  years  of  his  own. 

Yet — ^he  had  also  a  curious  feeling  that  he 
must  not  let  that  thought  spoil  for  him  the 
wonder  of  this  visit.  The  hour  was  his,  let  him 
make  the  most  of  it.  He  had  not  so  many 
happy  hours  that  he  could  afford  to  lose  one 
because  it  could  be  only  one.  He  would  not 
lose  it. 


XVI 
BROWN'S  NEW  WORLD 

So  the  house  was  reached — it  was  a  dark  and 
stem-looking  little  abode  at  this  hour,  with  its 
windows  unhghted,  though  usually  the  cheeriest 
on  the  square.  Brown  threw  open  the  door  and 
Bim  sprang  to  meet  him — turning  aside,  how- 
ever, at  sight  of  the  strangers.  Only  a  few 
embers  glowed  on  the  hearth,  and  the  room  was 
in  darkness. 

Brown  closed  the  door  behind  them  aJL 
"  Stand  still,  please,"  he  said,  "while  I  light  up." 

He  threw  some  kindlings  from  a  basket  upon 
the  fire,  and  they  leaped  into  flame  before  he 
could  light  the  lamp  on  his  table.  The  room  be- 
came a  pleasant  place  at  once,  as  any  room  must 

i8i 


i82  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

in  fire-  and  lamp-light,  so  that  it  contain  such 
few  essentials  of  living  as  did  Brown's — the  red- 
cushioned  chair  by  the  hearth,  the  books  and 
magazines  upon  the  table,  the  two  fine  portraits 
on  the  wall. 

"Now,  please  make  yourselves  comfortable," 
Brown  urged,  indicating  the  austere  little  bed- 
room his  friends  remembered.  "And  if  you'll 
do  that  I'll  go  at  the  joyous  task  of  getting  you 
some  supper." 

"You  must  let  us  help  you,"  Mrs.  Brainard 
offered. 

"Never!  What  could  you  do,  either  of  you, 
in  a  bachelor's  kitchen?" 

"But  we  want  to  see  the  bachelor  at  work 
there." 

"Your  presence  might  upset  me,"  he  called 
back,  laughing,  as  he  hurried  away. 

Two  minutes  later,  after  an  inspection  of  his 
larder,  he  was  rushing  up  the  street  to  the  comer 
grocery,  having  escaped  by  way  of  the  back  door. 


BROWN'S  NEW  WORLD  183 

If  any  of  his  friends  of  this  quarter  had  happened 
to  meet  him  under  one  of  the  scanty  street  lamps, 
they  might  have  noted  that  the  dark  face,  in 
these  days  usually  so  sober,  to-night  was  alight 
with  eagerness.  Donald  Brown's  eyes  were 
glowing,  there  was  a  touch  of  clear,  excited 
colour  on  his  cheek.  His  lips  were  all  but  smil- 
ing as  he  strode  along.  One  hand  was  already 
in  his  pocket,  feeling  critically  of  the  probable 
contents  of  the  purse  he  longed  to  empty,  to 
make  a  little  feast  for  his  so-welcome  guests. 
Arrived  at  Jim  Burke's  small  store,  the  cus- 
tomer scanned  the  place  anxiously,  and  it 
seemed  to  him  that  its  supplies  had  never  been 
so  meagre.  He  succeeded  in  buying  his  lettuce, 
however,  and  a  bottle  of  salad  oil,  and,  remem- 
bering a  can  of  asparagus  tips  on  his  own  shelves, 
congratulated  himself  upon  the  attainment 
of  his  salad.  Some  eggs  which  the  grocer  swore 
were  above  reproach,  and  some  small  bakery 
cakes,  completed  the  possibilities  of  the  place  for 


184  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

quick  consumption.  Brown  ran  back  to  the 
house  again,  his  arms  full  of  parcels,  his  mind 
struggling  with  the  incredible  fact  that  under  his 
roof  was  housed,  if  only  for  an  hour  or  two,  the 
one  being  whom  he  would  give  aU  but  his  soul  to 
keep. 

Entering  his  kitchen  by  its  outer  door  he 
stopped  short  upon  the  threshold.  A  figure  in  a 
white  blouse,  blue  serge  skirt,  and  Httle  white, 
beruffled  apron,  was  arranging  his  table.  The 
table  had  been  drawn  into  the  middle  of  the 
room,  his  simple  suppUes  of  linen  and  silver  had 
been  discovered,  and  the  preparations  were 
nearly  complete.  In  the  middle  of  the  table 
in  a  glass  bowl  was  a  huge  bunch  of  violets,  come 
from  he  could  not  have  guessed  where,  even  if  he 
had  given  any  thought  to  the  attempt. 

But  he  gave  no  thought  to  anything  but  the 
figure  before  him.  If  Helena  Forrest,  in  the 
silks  and  laces  of  her  usual  evening  attire,  had 
been  always  one  of  extraordinary  charm,  in  her 


BROWN'S  NEW  WORLD  185 

present  dress  and  setting  she  was  infinitely  more 
enchanting  to  the  man  who  stood  regarding  her 
with  his  heart  leaping  into  his  throat.  The  whole 
picture  she  presented  was  one  of  such  engaging 
domesticity  that  no  bachelor  who  had  suffered 
the  loneliness  this  one  had  known  so  many 
months  could  fail  to  appreciate  it. 

He  dropped  his  parcels  and  came  forward. 
Mrs.  Brainard  was  not  in  the  room,  and  the  door 
was  dosed  between  the  kitchen  and  the  living- 
room — ^by  accident,  or  intention?  The  pulses  in 
his  temples  were  suddenly  beating  hard. 

Helena  did  not  turn.  She  stood  by  the  table^ 
trifling  with  some  httle  detail  of  spoon  or  napkin, 
and  her  down-bent  profile  was  presented  to 
Brown's  gaze.  As  he  stared  at  it  a  sudden  vivid 
wave  of  colour  swept  over  her  cheek,  such  an 
evidence  of  inner  feeling  as  he  had  seldom  ob- 
served in  her  before,  who  usually  had  herself  so- 
well  in  hand. 

He  came  close  and  stood  looking  down  at  that 


i86  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

rich-hued  cheek,  the  soft  waves  of  her  dusky 
hair  drooping  toward  it. 

"What  does  this  mean?"  he  said,  unsteadily 
and  very  low.  "  This  can't  be  just  to  make  me 
go  mad  with  longing.  For  that's  what  I  shall  do 
if  I  look  long  at  you  like  this,  here  in  my  home — 
you  J  looking  as  if — ^as  if — ^you  belonged  here!'* 

He  saw  her  hand  tremble  as  it  touched  the 
violets  in  the  bowl,  arranging  them.  It  was  a 
very  beautiful  hand,  as  he  well  knew,  and  he  saw 
with  fresh  wonder  that  there  were  no  rings  upon 
it,  where  rare  and  costly  ones  were  wont  to  be. 

There  was  silence  for  an  instant  before  her  re- 
ply. Then  she  turned  and  looked  up,  fuU  into 
his  face. 

"May  I  belong  here?"  she  said,  very  gently. 

"Do  you  want  to?" 

"Yes." 

"You  are  willing  to  leave  it  all — ^for  me?'* 

"Yes." 

^'Oughtltoletyou?" 


BROWN'S  NEW  WORLD  187 

His  questions  had  been  rapid,  breathless,  his 
eyes  were  searching  hers  deeply.  He  was  very 
near,  but  he  had  not  put  out  a  hand  to  touch  her. 
Yet  no  woman,  seeing  him  as  he  stood  there, 
could  feel  herself  the  one  who  wooed,  even  though 
she  led  him  on. 

She  looked  away  for  an  instant,  while  her  lips 
broke  into  a  little  smile  of  wonder  at  his  control 
of  himself.  No  need  to  teU  her  how  she  drew 
him — she  knew  it  with  every  fibre  of  her.  Then 
she  let  him  have  her  eyes  again 

"Do  you  think  you  can  help  letting  me?"  she 
said,  and  lifted  her  face  with  that  adorable, 
irresistible  movement  which  tells  its  own  story 
of  its  own  desire. 

"No!"  His  voice  shook.  "Thank  God,  I 
don't  have  to  try  any  longer." 

It  was  no  passive  creature  he  took  then  into 
his  eager  arms,  it  was  one  who  raised  her  own 
with  the  rush  of  self-abandonment  which  made 
his  joy  complete.    Long  as  he  had  loved  her  he 


188  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

had  not  dreamed  of  her  as  ever  giving  herself  to 
any  lover  so  splendidly.  If  he  had  dreamed — • 
he  realized  with  a  strange  feeling  at  the  heart-' 
he  could  never  have  withstood.    .    .    . 

It  was  to  be  hoped  that  Mrs.  Brainard,  in  the 
other  room,  had  found  a  book  upon  the  table 
which  interested  her  or,  hungry  for  food  as  she 
had  professed  herself  to  be,  she  must  inevitably 
have  found  the  time  pass  slowly  before  she  was 
summoned  to  her  promised  supper. 

Out  in  the  old,  dark,  oak-walled  kitchen, 
Brown  was  still  putting  questions.  He  had 
placed  his  lady  in  a  chair,  and  he  sat  on  a  Httle 
old-fashioned  "cricket"  before  her,  one  that  he 
had  found  in  the  house  when  he  came  and  had 
carefuUy  preserved  for  its  oddity.  It  brought 
him  just  where  he  could  look  up  into  her  eyes. 
One  of  her  hands  was  in  both  his ;  he  lifted  it  now 
and  then  to  his  lips  as  he  talked.  The  packages 
of  eggs  and  lettuce  and  bakery  cakes  stood  un- 
touched and  forgotten  on  the  table.    If  Helena 


BROWN'S  NEW  WORLD  z39 

remembered  to  be  hungry,  it  was  not  worth  the 
spoiling  of  this  hour  to  demand  to  be  fed. 

"  Can  I  possibly  make  you  comfortable  here?" 
was  one  of  his  questions. 

"  Don't  you  think  I  look  as  if  I  might  help  you 
make  us  both  comfortable?"  was  her  answer. 

Brown  looked  at  the  plain  little  white  blouse, 
at  the  simple  blue  serge  skirt,  then  on  down  to 
the  foot  which  showed  below  the  hem  of  the 
skirt. 

"  Is  this  the  sort  of  shoe  that  working-women 
jvear?  "  he  inquired  skeptically. 

Helena  laughed.  "Neither  Mrs.  Brainard 
nor  I  could  bring  ourselves  to  that,"  she  owned. 
"And  since  you  and  I  are  only  to  play  at  being 


poor 


We  can  afford  to  keep  you  in  fine  shoe 
eather?  Yes,  I  think  we  can.  But  you  are 
going  to  miss  a  world  of  things  you  are  used  to, 
my  queen — and  not  only  a  world  of  things — the 
work!  itseK." 


190  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

"I  know.  But — ^I  tried  living  in  my  world 
without  you — ^and  I  failed." 

He  made  an  inarticulate  exclamation,  ex- 
pressive of  great  joy,  and  followed  it  with  the 
age-old  demand:  "TeU  me  when  you  became 
willing  to  come  to  mine." 

"The  night  you  were  in  town."' 

"What?    Not  at  Atchison's  dinner?  " 

"  Yes.  I  would  have  come  with  you  then.  I 
would  have  come  with  you  from  the  singing  of 
that  song." 

"  But  you — ^you  let  me  think  you  wanted  me 
to  comeback!" 

"I  am  only  human.  I  wanted  you  to  come 
back.  But — I  wanted  you  to  refuse  to  come! 
If  you  hadn't  refused " 

"Yes " 

"  You  wouldn't  have  towered  as  high  for  me  as 
you  do  now.  I  might  have  loved  you,  but — ^per- 
haps— ^I  shouldn't  have — adored  you!" 

The  last  words  came  in  a  whisper,  and  again 


BROWN'S  NEW  WORLD  i§i 

the  wonderful  colour  poured  itself  over  her  face. 
Brown,  at  the  sight,  bent  his  head  upon  her 
hand,  and  she  put  her  other  hand  upon  his 
heavy  hair  and  gently  caressed  it.  When  he 
lifted  his  head  his  eyes  were  wet. 

"  Oh,  but  I  don't  deserve  that,"  he  murmured 
brokenly,  and  put  up  his  arms  and  drew  her 
down  to  him.    Soon  he  spoke  with  solemnity, 

"Darling,  you  are  not  making  this  great  sacri- 
fice wholly  for  me?  You  love — the  One  I  try 
to  serve?  You  wiU  be  glad  to  serve  Him,  too, 
with  me?" 

"Yes,  Donald.  But  I  love  Him,  I  think, 
through  you.  I  hope  to  reach  your  heights 
some  day,  but  you  will  have  to  lead  me  there." 

They  remembered  Mrs.  Brainard  at  last,  and 
they  remembered  that  Helena,  also,  had  had 
nothing  at  all  to  eat  since  the  hour  for  afternoon 
tea.  Brown  flimg  open  the  door  into  his  living- 
room,  his  face  aglow,  and  stood  laughing  at  the 
sight  of  Mrs.  Brainard's  posture  in  his  red  rock- 


ipa  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

ang-chair.  As  if  exhausted  by  the  tortures  of 
fatigue  and  starvation  she  lay  back  in  an  atti- 
tude of  utter  abandonment  to  her  fate,  and  only 
the  gleam  of  her  eyes  and  the  smile  on  her  hps 
belied  the  dejection  of  her  pose. 

"It's  a  shame!"  he  cried,  coming  to  her  side. 
"Or  would  be  if — ^you  hadn't  aided  and  abetted 
it  aU." 

"Are  you  happy,  Donald  dear?"  asked  the 
lady,  sitting  up  and  reaching  up  both  hands  to 
him.     "Ah,  yes;  I  only  need  to  look  at  you!" 

'*So  happy  I  don't  know  what  I'm  doing, 
you  kind,  wise  friend." 

"Wise?  I  wonder  if  I  am.  What  will  they 
all  say  to  me,  I  wonder,  when  they  know  the  part 
I've  played?  Never  mind!  Is  Helena  happy, 
too?  I  hope  so,  for  the  poor  girl  has  been 
through  the  depths,  bless  her!" 

"Come  and  see!"  And  with  his  arm  about 
her,  Donald  led  her  out  into  the  kitchen. 

Helena  came  forward.    "Dearest  lady,  will 


BROWN'S  NEW  WORLD  193 

you  stay  and  have  supper  with  us?"  said  she 
with  quite  the  air  of  the  proud  young  housewife, 
and  Brown  laughed  in  his  delight. 

"  Had  I  better  stay?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Brainard, 
laughing  with  the  man  at  her  side,  while  both  re- 
garded the  figure  before  them  with  eyes  which 
missed  no  note  in  the  appeal  of  her  presence  in 
that  place. 

"  Oh,  yes,  indeed.  We've  plenty  and  to  spare. 
Donald  paid  a  visit  to  the  comer  grocery  not 
long  ago,  and  we've  new-laid  eggs,  and  radishes 
and  all.    Do  stay!" 

"I  think  I  will."  And  Mrs.  Brainard  took 
the  radiant  face  between  her  soft,  white,  ringless 
hands  and  kissed  it  as  a  mother  might. 

In  no  time  at  all  the  hour  had  come  for  the 
visitors  to  go  to  their  train.  In  spite  of  their 
protests  Brown  would  have  a  cab  come  for  them, 
though  it  took  him  some  minutes  to  get  one  in  a 
quarter  of  the  city  where  such  luxury  was  rare. 

"Time  enough  for  self-denial,"  said  he  as  he 


194  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

took  his  place  facing  them.  "  Let  me  play  I'm 
a  man  of  affluence  again — ^just  for  to-night." 

"I'm  afraid,  Don,  you'U  always  be  tempted  to 
call  cabs  for  your  wife,"  Mrs.  Brainard  said,  and 
suppressed  a  bit  of  a  sigh;  for,  after  all,  she  knew 
what  the  future  must  cost  them  both,  and 
she  herself  would  miss  them  sadly  from  her 
world. 

But  it  was  Helena  who  silenced  her.  "When 
he  walks,  III  walk,"  said  she.  "  Haven't  I  been 
in  training  for  a  year — even  though  I  didn't 
know  why  I  was  training?" 

"  I  think  we've  both  been  in  training  for  the 
year,"  said  Brown.  "Even  though  we  didn't 
know — God  knew — and  when  He  trains — then 
the  end  is  sure!" 

When  he  had  put  them  in  their  car,  and  had 
taken  leave  of  them  with  a  look  which  he  foimd 
it  hard  to  tear  away,  plain  and  unpretentious 
travellers  though  they  were  that  night,  he  went 
striding  back  through  the  April  midnight  to  the 


BROWN'S  NEW  WORLD  195 

little  old  house  the  Englishman  had  built  so  long 
ago. 

As  he  let  himself  m,  Bim  came  tearing  to  meet 
him.  The  fireHght  was  still  bright  upon  the 
hearth,  and  Brown  sat  down  before  it,  leaning 
forward  to  look  into  the  glowing  coals  with  eyes 
which  saw  there  splendid  things.  The  dog  came 
close  and  laid  his  head  on  Brown's  knee,  and  re- 
ceived the  absent-minded  but  friendly  caress  he 
longed  for.  Also,  with  the  need  for  speech, 
Bim's  master  told  him  something  of  what  he  was 
thinking. 

"The  look  of  her,  Bim,  boy,  in  those  simple 
clothes — ^why,  she  was  never  half  so  beautiful  in 
the  most  costly  things  she  ever  wore.  And 
she's  mine — mine!  She's  coming  here — ^next 
month,  Bim,  to  be  my  wife !  Can  you  believe  it? 
I  can't — not  more  than  half.  And  yet,  when  I 
remember — remember 

"And  it  seemed  hard  to  me,  Bim — aU  this 
year — ^my  life  here.    I  thought  I  was  an  exile — ^I, 


196  THE  BROWN  STUDY 

with  this  coming  to  me!  0  God — but  You  are 
good  to  me — good  !  How  I  will  work — ^how  we 
will  work — we " 

He  got  up,  presently,  and  as  he  stood  on  the 
hearth-rug,  about  to  leave  it  for  his  bed,  a 
whimsical,  wonderful  thought  struck  him. 

"  I'll  never  have  to  borrow  little  Norah  Kelcey 
any  more,  for  the  want  of  something  to  get  my 
arms  about.  Instead — some  day — perhaps — 0 
God,  but  You  are  good!'* 


THE  TIME  OF  fflS  LIFE 


I'^S-zJSs* 


•*-^Ci^^/-^^ 


THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE 


"Dot,  do  you  remember  Kirke  Waldron?" 
Dorothy  Broughton,  daintily  manipulating 
her  breakfast  grapefruit,  her  shapely  young  arm 
showing  interesting  curves  through  the  muslin 
and  lace  of  her  morning  gown — ^made  by  her 
own  clever  fingers — looked  up  at  her  brother 
Julius.  He  was  keeping  her  company  at  her 
late  and  solitary  breakfast,  sitting  casually  on 
the  arm  of  his  brother-in-law's  empty  chair, 
his  long  legs  crossed,  his  arms  folded  upon  his 
chest.  His  bright  eyes  surveyed  his  sister  as 
he  spoke,  from  the  crown  of  her  carefully  or- 
dered hair  to  the  tips  of  her  white  shoes — he 
could  see  them  from  his  position  at  one  side,  and 

he  observed  that  they  were  as  white  and  as 

199 


20O  THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE 

fresh  as  her  gown.  That  was  one  of  the  things 
Julius  heartily  approved  of  in  his  pretty  sister 
— ^her  fastidiousness  in  such  matters.  He  was 
fastidious  himself  to  a  degree;  nothing  more 
correct  in  its  way  than  his  own  morning  attire 
could  have  been  imagined. 

"Waldron?"  Dorothy  repeated.  "Tliat  tall, 
solemn  boy  who  used  to  stumble  over  himself 
on  his  way  to  the  blackboard?  " 

"And  then  had  the  rest  of  the  class  looking 
like  a  set  of  dough-heads  while  he  covered  the 
blackboard  with  neat  little  figures  that  always 
came  out  right;  a  perfect  shark  at  'math.' 
Yes,  he's  the  one.  Five  classes  ahead  of  us 
then — ^fifteen  now.  We  aren't  in  it,  any  of  us, 
with  Kirkie  Waldron  these  days." 

"I've  never  heard  nor  thought  of  him  since 
then,"  averred  his  sister.  "Do  you  mean  he's 
made  something  of  himself?  I  should  never 
have  thought  it." 

"No,  you'd  never  have  thought  it,  because 


THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE  201 

he  stumbled  over  his  own  feet  when  he  was  a  kid. 
Well,  let  me  tell  you  it's  the  only  thing  he's 
ever  stumbled  over.  He's  just  been  taken  into 
the  office  of  Ha)nies  and  Ardmore,  consulting 
mining  engineers,  and  everybody  says  that'll 
mean  a  partnership  some  day.  And  that  brings 
me  to  my  point.  He  hasn't  taken  a  day's  vaca- 
tion for  two  years.  Day  after  to-morrow  he  sails 
for  South  America  to  stay  six  months,  looking 
after  the  development  of  a  new  mine  down  there 
in  Colombia.  He  can  take  to-morrow  for  a 
hoUday,  and  I've  asked  him  out — ^with  Bud's 
permission.  And  I  want  you  to  help  me  give 
him  the  time  of  his  life.'^ 

"Me?"  Dorothy  opened  her  brown  eyes. 
"Oh,  but  I  can't  give  you  to-morrow!  The 
bridal  party's  going  on  an  all-day  motor  trip." 

JuHus  ran  his  hand  through  the  crisp,  half- 
curly  locks  of  his  black  hair.  ' '  Cut  it  out.  You 
don't  need  to  be  on  every  last  one  of  their  junket- 
ings.    Get  'em  to  let  you  off  for  to-morrow." 


202  THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE 

"  I  can't  possibly.  I'm  to  be  maid  of  honour, 
you  know.  Irene  would  never  forgive  me,  nor 
— some  of  the  others." 

Julius  frowned.  "See  here,  you're  not  let- 
ting Ridge  Jordan  get  any  headway  with  you, 
are  you?  If  you  are  you'd  certainly  better 
make  him  take  a  day  off  while  you  see  what  a 
real  man  is  like.  After  you've  had  a  good  look 
at  Elirke  Waldron  you'll  be  ready  to  let  Tom 
Wendell  and  Ridge  Jordan  and  the  rest  of 
those  bridal  party  men  go  to  thunder.  I  don't 
suppose  Waldron  was  ever  an  usher  or  best 
man  at  a  wedding  in  his  life,  but  I  tell  you  he'll 
make  every  one  of  those  little  society  men  look 
like  copper  cents,  just  the  same.'* 

Dorothy  rose  from  her  chair.  Her  brown 
eyes  surveyed  her  brother  from  between  heavy 
chestnut  lashes,  and  just  now  they  were  very 
hau^ty  eyes.  Her  curving,  crimson  lips  were 
scornful.  "I  find  it  difficult  to  believe,"  she 
observed,  "that  a  boy  whcan  I  particularly 


THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE  203 

detested,  one  of  the  most  awkward,  solemn- 
faced,  uninteresting  boys  I  ever  saw  in  my  life, 
can  have  blossomed  into  such  a  wonder.  As  for 
Ridgeway  Jordan,  I  like  him  very  much.  He 
may  be  a  society  man — ^which  is  no  crime,  I 
believe — but  he  is  also  making  quite  as  good,  in 
his  way,  as  your  friend,  Mr.  Waldron.  And  I 
certainly  am  not  going  to  throw  over  an  en- 
gagement as  binding  as  this  one  to  give  any- 
body *  the  time  of  his  life.* " 

She  walked  out  of  the  room,  cancelling  the 
effect  of  her  haughtiness  by  turning  to  throw 
back  a  smile  at  her  brother,  as  ravishing  a  smile 
as  if  he  were  no  brother  at  aU. 

Her  sister,  Mrs.  Jack  Elliot,  entering  in  time 
to  glance  curiously  from  Dorothy's  smile  to 
Julius's  scowl,  inquired  of  Julius  what  might 
be  the  matter. 

He  shook  his  head.  "I  don't  like  the  symp- 
toms. She  takes  it  more  and  more  seriously 
when  I  hit  Ridge  Jordan  in  any  way.    I  like 


2C4  THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE 

Ridge  myself,  but  I  wouldn't  see  Dot  marry 
him  for  a  good  deal." 

"I  don't  believe  there  is  the  least  danger," 
his  elder  sister  replied.  She  looked  a  mere  giri 
herself.  She  was  immolating  herself  just  now, 
as  was  everybody  else  in  the  suburban  town, 
on  the  altar  of  the  Clifford- Jordan  bridal  party. 
That  the  dinners  and  dances,  drives  and  lunch- 
eons might  proceed  without  hindrance  many 
family  schedules  were  being  upset.  Mrs.  Jack's 
one  anxiety  at  present  was  to  have  her  charm- 
ing sister's  bloom  remain  imwom  by  fatigue. 
Thus  far  Dorothy  was  holding  out  better  than 
any  of  the  other  bridesmaids.  "Her  colour 
was  just  as  good  as  ever,  wasn't  it?  "  Mrs.  Jack 
murmured  absently,  preparing  to  remove  Dor- 
othy's fruit  plate.  "I  don't  believe  she  ate  a 
thing  but  fruit,"  she  murmured. 

"Best  thing  she  could  do.  After  the  stuff 
she  undoubtedly  got  away  with  at  midnight 
her  only  salvation's  a  li^t  breakfast.    As  to  her 


THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE  205 

colour,  I  enriched  it,"  he  explained  grimly,  "by 
mentioning  my  feeling  about  Ridge.  If  I 
thought,  after  aU  the  attentions  that  giri  has 
had,  that  she'd  take  Ridge  Jordan — ^with  all  his 
money!  Dot's  no  giri  to  care  such  a  lot  about 
money.  It's  this  crazy  bridal-party  business 
that's  upset  her,  I'll  go  you!  The  thing's  con- 
tagious. Lord  Harry!  I  don't  know  that  I 
'could  look  long  at  Irene  and  Harold  myself 
without  getting  a  touch  of  it." 

"A  touch!  You  and  Sally?"  Mrs.  Jack 
smiled. 

"Oh,  well;  that's  different."  Her  brother 
thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets  and  walked 
over  to  the  window.  "Entirely  different.  Sally 
and  I  were  intended  for  each  other  from  the  be- 
ginning; everybody  knows  that.  But  now — 
what  in  thunder  am  I  going  to  do  with  Waldron? 
Tell  me  that.  I've 'got  him  to  come  down  here 
expressly  to  meet  Dot.  Of  course  I  didn't 
tell  him  so;  he's  not  that  sort.    And  now  she's 


2o6  THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE 

off  for  all  to-morrow  with  that  confounded 
bridal  party." 

"Can't  he  come  some  other  time?" 

"I  should  say  not;  certainly  not  for  months. 
He's  off  to  South  America  for  a  long  stay — ^has 
this  one  day  to  himself.  You  see  it  wasn't 
till  I  met  him  yesterday  that  I  realized  what  the 
fellow  had  become;  and  then  it  came  over  me 
all  at  once  what  it  might  mean  to  have  him  meet 
Dot  just  now.     I'm  no  matchmaker " 

"I  should  say  that  is  just  what  you  are!" 

"  No ;  but — *  There  is  a  tide,*  you  know.  And 
Dot  certainly  has  me  worried  to  death  over 
Ridge  Jordan." 

"But,  Julius" — Mrs.  Jack's  voice  took  on  a 
tinge  of  anxiety — "we've  always  thought  well 
of  Ridge.     I  don't  just  see " 

"I  know  you  don't.  He's  not  the  mian  for 
Dot.  I  want  a  real  man  for  her.  Fve  got  him. 
Wait  till  you  see  Kirke!" 

"You  seem  to  think  it's  very  single " 


THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE  207 

"By  George,  I  think  it  is!  I  know  how  he 
felt  about  her  when  she  was  a  youngster:  adored 
the  ground  she  walked  00.  She  never  looked  at 
him.  I  tell  you  she'll  look  at  him  now;  he's 
worth  looking  at" 

"If  he's  so  fine  locJdng  he  may  be  engaged 
to  some  other  girl." 

"He's  not.  I  made  sure  of  that,"  declared 
Julius,  audacity  gleaming  in  his  eyes  as  usual. 
"Besides,  I  tell  you,  he's  not  that  sort.  He's 
no  matinee  idol  for  looks;  maybe  you  woiddn't 
even  call  him  good  looking.  I  do;  he's  got  the 
goods  in  his  face,  handsome  or  not.  I  tell  you 
he's  a  real  man.  Dot  haai't  seen  one  yet  I'll 
make  her  see  Kirke — somehow.    You  wait." 

He  marched  away,  head  up,  eyes  thoughtful, 
lips  pursed  in  a  whistle. 

Next  morning,  when  three  luxurious  motor 
cars  stopped  at  Mrs.  Jack's  door,  JuUus  was 
lounging  on  the  porch.  It  was  his  Senior  vaca- 
tion; he  could  be  forgiven  for  loimging.    In  his 


2o8  THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE 

flannels,  hands  in  pockets,  he  strolled  down  the 
iteps  with  his  sister  to  see  her  off,  though 
Ridgeway  Jordan  was  escorting  her  devotedly. 

» 

He  surveyed  her,  as  he  followed  her,  with 
brotherly  pride. 

"That  sister  of  mine  has  all  the  rest  of  them 
beaten  at  the  quarter-mile,"  was  his  inward 
reflection.  "Not  much  money  to  do  it  on,  but 
she  certainly  knows  how  to  get  herself  up  to 
look  as  if  she'd  just  walked  out  of  a  tailor's 
box  and  a  milliner's  bandbox.  Made  that 
Btxmner  of  a  hat  herself,  I'U  wager.  Fresh  as  a 
peach,  her  face,  too.  The  others  look  a  bit 
jaded." 

Along  with  these  inner  conmients  he  was 
keeping  up  a  running  fire  of  talk  with  two  of 
the  bridesmaids,  whom  he  knew  well.  His 
bright  black  eyes,  however,  noted  that  Dor- 
othy's place  in  the  first  car  was  next  that  of 
Ridgeway  Jordan,  and  that  the  face  of  that 
young  man  was  soberer  than  usual. 


THE  TIME  OF  fflS  LIFE  aog 

"Bad  sign,"  he  reflected  as  he  turned  away, 
after  a  hot-and-heavy  exchange  of  banter  with 
certain  of  the  men  as  the  car  prepared  to  start. 
"When  a  chap  begins  to  look  solemn,  sitting 
beside  a  girl  you  know  he's  in  love  with,  you 
can  be  sure  he  has  it  on  his  mind  to  have  it  out 
with  her  before  the  day  is  over.  If  I  could  have 
just  got  Kirke  to  her  yesterday!  Ridge  may 
do  it  any  time  now;  I  can  see  it  in  his  eye — ^and 
she  may  take  him.  I  don't  know  what's  got 
into  Dot.  A  month  ago  she'd  have  laughed  at 
the  idea  of  marrying  him;  but  now  I  can't  be 
sure  of  her.  It's  this  idiotic  bridal  hysteria 
that's  got  her  in  its  grip.  By  George,  she 
shan't  take  him!" 

An  hour  later,  in  his  brother-in-law's  trap, 
Julius  drove  to  the  station  to  meet  hk  guest. 
Kirke  Waldron,  descending  from  the  train, 
found  his  old  schoolmate,  yoimger  than  himself, 
but  weU  remembered  as  the  imp  of  the  High 
School,  waiting  for  him  on  the  station  platform. 


2IO  THE  TIME  OF  fflS  LIFE 

"Mighty  glad  to  be  sure  of  you,"  Julius 
declared,  shaking  hands.  "Until  I  actually 
caught  sight  of  you  I  was  still  expecting  a  wire 
saying  you  couldn't  afford  even  the  one  day." 

"The  coast  is  clear,"  Waldron  answered, 
returning  the  grip  with  equal  vigor.  "  I  closed 
every  account  at  midnight  and  have  my  one 
day  as  free  as  air." 

"The  question  is,"  Julius  lost  no  time  in  be- 
ginning, as  the  two  walked  along  the  trim, 
flower-bordered  suburban  platform  toward  the 
waiting  trap,  "what  sort  of  a  day  do  you  want? 
Outdoors,  of  course;  no  question  of  that  in  hot 
weather.  But — ^with  people  or  away  from 
them?  I  can  take  you  to  my  sister's  for  lunch- 
eon; to  tell  the  truth,  she's  coimting  on  that. 
But  afterward  I  have  a  little  plan  to  carry  you 
up  into  the  mountains  to  a  place  I  know  for  an 
all-afternoon  tramp  and  a  dinner  at  the  best 
little  inn  in  the  country.  Back  in  the  late  eve- 
ning, a  dash  down  to  our  river  and  a  swim  by 


THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE  ail 

mooidight.  How  does  that  programme  suit 
you?" 

"  It's  great,"  agreed  Kirke  Waldron  decidedly. 
"Nothing  coiild  suit  me  better.  Vacation, 
to  me,  means  outdoors  always.  And  it's  a  long 
time  ance  I've  done  any  tramping  in  the  home 
State." 

"I  knew  you  weren't  one  of  the  hanmiock- 
and-novel  vacation  sort,"  Julius  said  as  he  put 
his  new-old  friend  into  the  trap.  "I'm  not 
myself.  Though" — ^he  confessed  with  hon- 
esty— "  I  have  been  known  to  sit  with  my  heels 
in  the  air  for  a  longer  consecutive  period  than 
you've  ever  done  if  all  your  sittings  were  lumped 
together." 

"What  do  you  know  as  to  where  I've  kept 
my  heels?  " 

"  On  the  ground,  planting  one  before  the  other 
without  rest,  day  in  and  day  out,  ever  since  I 
first  knew  you.  That's  why  you're  where  you 
are;  it  doeai't  take  a  soothsayer  to  tell  that." 


212  THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE 

Waldron  laughed.  "You're  a  flatterer,"  he 
said. 

Julius  shook  his  head.  "Not  a  bit  of  it. 
It's  written  all  over  you.  If  I  got  caught  in  the 
middle  of  an  earthquake  anywhere,  and  the 
ground  stopped  shaking  and  I  looked  around  me 
to  find  out  what  to  do  next,  and  my  eye  fell  on 
you  out  of  hundreds  bunched  around  me,  I 
should  simply — foUow  you  out  of  the  mess!" 

"That's  a  great  tribute,"  Waldron  admitted, 
"from  a  fellow  whom  I  used  to  know  as  the 
cleverest  at  getting  himself  out  of  scrapes  of  all 
the  boys  who  were  resourceful  in  getting  into 
them." 

"Having  exchanged  large-sized  bouquets," 
Julius  observed  with  sudden  gravity,  "we  will 
now  drive  home.  Do  you  know  I'm  mighty 
sorry  my  sister  Dorothy  isn't  there?  You 
remember  her,  do  you? — or  maybe  you  don't. 
She  was  just  a  'kid'  with  a  couple  of  long  tails 
of  hair  down  her  back.    My  second  sister. 


THE  TIME  OF  fflS  LIFE  213 

Barbara — ^we  call  her  *Bud' — was  in  your  class, 
I  believe.  She  remembers  you  all  right;  says 
she  was  tremendously  impressed  by  the  way 
you  slew  the  fractions  on  the  blackboard.  Bud 
married  Jack  ElUot,  as  I  told  you  yesterday;  and 
a  great  old  boy  he  is,  too,  for  a  brother-in-law." 

Discoursing  of  his  family,  with  occasional 
mention  of  his  sister  Dorothy,  Julius  took  his 
friend  to  the  Elliot  home.  Mrs.  Jack,  fresh 
and  charming,  made  them  welcome.  Jack 
himself,  by  some  happy  chance,  had  been  able  to 
come  out  for  limcheon,  and  the  three  men  foimd 
each  other  thoroughly  congenial. 

After  limcheon  Julius  contrived  a  chance  to 
exchange  a  brief  coUoquy  with  Mrs.  Jack  on 
the  subject  of  the  guest. 

"What  do  you  think  of  him.  Bud?  Pretty 
fine  sort  to  have  developed  from  the  grub  who 
did  the  stimts  with  fractions,  with  his  freckled 
face  turning  lobster  colour  because  you  giris 
were  looking  at  him?  '* 


214  THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE 

"I  can't  believe  he's  the  same,"  Mrs.  Jack 
whispered,  looking  through  the  open  window  at 
the  figure  on  the  porch  outside,  its  side  turned 
toward  her.  "I  haven't  seen  a  man  in  a  long 
time  with  so  much  character  in  his  face.  He's 
not  exactly  handsome,  but — ^yes,  I  certainly  do 
like  his  face  very  much.  I  wish — ^I  really  wish 
Dot  were  here." 

"  Oh,  no,  not  at  all ! "  Julius  objected.  "  Dot's 
satisfied  with  Ridge  Jordan,  or  thinks  she  is. 
So  are  you." 

"I  have  always  liked  Ridge,"  Mrs.  Jack 
insisted;  "but — ^well,  Mr.  Waldrcm  is  quite 
another  type." 

"Yes,  quite  another,"  Julius  murmured,  and 
returned  to  the  porch. 

Before  the  two  took  the  train  for  the  moun- 
tains Julius  managed  to  let  Waldron  see  a 
photograph  of  Dorothy.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
photographs  of  Dorothy  were  all  about  the 
house,  but  in  Julius's  own  room  hung  one  which 


THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE  215 

the  brother  con^dered  the  gem  of  them  all. 
It  showed  one  of  those  straight-out-of-the- 
picture  faces  which  are  sometimes  so  attractive, 
the  eyebrows  level  above  the  wonderful  eyes, 
the  lips  serious  and  sweet,  the  head  well  poised 
upon  the  lovely  neck,  the  whole  aspect  one  of 
youth  imconscious  of  its  charm,  yet  feeling  a 
subtle  power  of  its  own. 

Waldron,  his  attention  called  to  the  photo- 
graph, surveyed  it  with  a  quiet  comment:  "I 
should  have  known  she  would  look  like  this 
when  she  grew  up";  and  turned  away  without 
undue  lingering.  Yet  Julius  was  satisfied  that 
Waldron  would  know  the  face  again  when  he 
saw  it,  as  it  was  intended  that  he  should. 

It  was  a  journey  of  an  hour  and  a  half  by 
Tail  up  into  the  mountain  resort  where,  by 
certain  artfully  veiled  investigations,  Julius  had 
ascertained  that  the  bridal  party  would  stop 
for  dinner.  Scheming  joyously,  he  led  his  com- 
panion from  the  train  at  a  station  several  miles 


2i6  THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE 

from  Saxifrage  Inn,  alighting  at  a  mere  flag 
station  in  the  midst  of  a  semi-wilderness.  The 
promised  tramp  began  without  the  knowledge 
of  the  guest  as  to  where  it  was  to  end  or  hint 
as  to  what  might  be  foimd  there. 

Coats  over  their  arms,  the  two  young  men 
swimg  away  upon  the  trail — a.  wide,  much-used 
trail,  which  could  be  followed  without  diiSculty. 
The  warm  smnmer  air  was  fragrant  with  the 
scent  of  balsam,  pine,  and  fern;  pine  needles 
carpeted  the  path;  faint  forest  sounds  came  to 
their  ears — the  call  of  a  loon  from  a  distant 
lake,  the  whirr  of  a  partridge,  the  chatter  of  a 
squirrel,  the  splash  of  falling  water.  Waldron 
took  off  his  straw  hat  and  tucked  it  imder  his 
arm,  baring  his  forehead  to  the  spice-laden 
breeze  that  now  and  then  filtered  through  thw 
forest,  stirring  languid  leaves  to  motion. 

"Ah,  but  I'd  like  to  be  just  setting  out  on  a 
fortnight  of  this!"  he  breathed.  "Dressed  for 
the  part,  a  pack  on  my  back — or  a  canoe. 


THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE  217 

When  I  was  a  boy  I  used  to  go  on  long  canoeing 
trips,  following  our  river  to  its  mouth.  I  don't 
like  the  tropics  as  well  as  I  do  the  temperate 
zones." 

"If  you  weren't  such  a  tremendous  grind 
you  would  do  it  now,"  Julius  offered.  "A 
fellow  needs  a  vacation,  now  and  then,  if  he's 
to  keep  in  shape." 

Waldron  glanced  at  him,  smiling.  "So  he 
does.  But  somehow  I've  managed  to  keep  in 
shape.  I  inherit  from  my  father  a  fairiy  tough 
constitution,  and  also  the  love  of  work,  the 
seeing  my  job  through  to  the  finish  without  loss 
of  time.    I  suspect  that's  what  keeps  me  going." 

They  fell  into  talk  about  Waldron's  work. 

In  answer  to  Julius's  questions  Waldron  told 
him  a  good  deal  about  the  work  itself — ^Uttle, 
as  Juhus  afterward  realized,  of  his  own  part  in  it. 
The  miles  feU  away  beneath  their  steadily 
marching  feet,  and  in  due  season,  by  Julius's 
management,  they  emerged  from  the  trail  at 


2i8  THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE 

a  certain  rocky  bluff  overlooking  the  distant 
country,  upon  which  was  perched  the  small  but 
county- famous  inn  where  they  were  to  have 
dinner. 

A  string  of  automobiles  stood  along  the  drive- 
way, and  among  them  Julius  readily  recognized 
the  three  with  which  he  was  familiar  as  those 
which  had  been  conveying  the  Clifford- Jordan 
bridal  party  to  and  from  its  places  of  enter- 
tainment for  the  last  fortnight.  No  sign  of 
the  party  itself  was  to  be  seen  upon  the  side 
piazzas  which  encompassed  the  inn.  But  this 
was  easily  understood.  From  some  distance 
away  the  soimds  proceeding  from  a  shrubbery- 
screened  point  upon  the  bluff  before  the  inn 
betrayed  the  presence  of  a  company  of  revellers. 
This  was  as  it  should  be.  Even  Julius  Brough- 
ton's  audacity  was  not  to  be  carried  to  the  point 
of  forcing  himself  and  his  friend,  uninvited,  upon 
a  set  of  yoimg  people  already  carefully  selected 
and  for  the  tinve  being  rigidly  separated  from 


THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE  sig 

the  rest  of  mankind  by  metaphorical  white 
ribbons  stretched  to  insure  privacy. 

Julius  left  Waldron  upon  the  porch  and  went 
into  the  inn  to  ascertain,  if  might  be,  from  the 
management  where  the  bridal  party  would  be 
dining.  Learning,  as  he  had  expected,  that  a 
private  apartment  was  devoted  to  their  use, 
he  went  to  the  public  dining  room  and  selected 
a  table.  Being  early  he  was  able  to  secure  one 
in  an  alcove,  looking  out  through  an  open 
window  upon  the  path  alcmg  which  the  bridal 
party,  returning  from  the  bluff,  would  be  sure 
to  approach.  To  this  he  presently  led  Waldron 
and  seated  him  so  that  he  faced  the  path 
outside,  the  vista  of  distant  coimtryside  beyond. 
The  yoimg  people  of  the  Clifford- Jordan  party 
were  to  dine  at  ei^t,  and  it  lacked  only  a  few 
minutes  of  this  hour  when  they  appeared  down 
the  path. 

Julius  had  just  given  his  order  and  leaned 
comfortably  back  in  his  chair  when  he  cau^t 


220  THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE 

sight  of  them.  "By  George!"  he  ejaculated. 
"Well,  well!  so  this  is  where  they've  come! 
Been  mighty  mysterious  about  where  they 
meant  to  spend  the  day,  but  we've  caught 
'em.  Started  in  the  opposite  direction  this 
morning,  too — ^just  for  a  blind.  You  see  there 
are  a  lot  of  practical  jokers  among  Clifford's 
friends,  and  their  attentions  haven't  been  con- 
fined to  the  hour  of  the  wedding  itself.  I  say, 
recognize  the  girl  in  the  lead  with  the  bride's 
brother,  that  light-haired  fellow?" 

Drawing  back  so  that  he  was  concealed  by  the 
curtains  of  the  window  Waldron  looked  out  at 
the  approaching  bevy  of  yoimg  people.  Up 
the  path  they  came,  talking,  laughing,  shifting 
like  a  pattern  in  a  kaleidoscope,  gay,  hand- 
some, sophisticated,  modishly  dressed,  imcon- 
ventionally  mannered,  yet  showing,  most  of 
them,  the  traces  of  that  youthful  ennui  so  often 
betrayed  in  these  modem  days  by  those  who 
of  all  the  world  should  feel  it  least. 


THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE  221 

JuKus's  brotherly  eye  rested  upon  his  sister, 
as  it  had  done  that  morning,  with  cool  satis- 
faction. Some  of  the  girls  looked  in  disarray, 
hair  tumbled,  frocks  rumpled,  faces  burned. 
Dorothy's  simple  white  serge  suit  was  immussed, 
her  hair  was  trim  under  her  plain  white  hat 
,  with  its  black  velvet  band,  her  colour  was  even, 
her  dark  eyes  clear.  Although  Ridgeway  Jordan 
was  bestowing  upon  her  the  most  devoted 
attentions,  his  eyes  constantly  seeking — ^but 
seldom  finding — ^hers,  she  was  showing  no  con- 
sciousness of  it  beyond  the  little,  curving,  half- 
smile  with  which  she  was  answering  him.  In 
a  word,  her  brother  felt.  Dot  was  sweet — strong 
and  sweet  and  unspoiled — ^fascinating,  too, 
being  a  woman  and  not  without  guile.  Didn't 
she  know — of  course  she  did — that  it  was  just 
that  noncommittal  attitude  of  hers,  amused 
and  pleased  and  interested,  but  imimpressed 
by  their  regard,  that  drew  the  men  like  a 
magnet? 


222  THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE 

Behind  Dorothy  and  young  Jordan  one  of 
the  bridesmaids,  an  extraordinarily  pretty  girl, 
was  laughing  hysterically,  clutching  at  her 
attendant's  sleeve  and  then  pushing  him  away. 
He  was  laughing  with  her — and  at  her — and  his 
eyes,  aU  the  time,  were  following  Dorothy 
Broughton.  It  seemed  to  Julius,  as  the  party 
came  on,  that  most  of  the  girls  were  behaving 
foolishly — and  quite  all  the  men.  Perhaps  it 
was  because  they  had  all  seen  so  much  of  each 
other  during  these  days  and  nights  of  mory- 
making  that  they  had  reached  the  borders  of 
a  dangerous  familiarity.  A  little  tired  of  one 
another  most  of  them  had  become,  it  was  more 
than  probable.  Against  this  background  Doro- 
thy showed  easily  the  most  distinction  of  them 
all;  she  looked  in  her  simple  attire,  contrasted 
with  the  elaborate  costumes  of  the  other  brides- 
maids, like  a  young  princess  reigning  over  a 
too  frivolous  suite. 

Kirke  Waldron  looked,  unperceived,  out  of 


THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE  223 

his  window,  and  Julius,  turning  his  eyes  from 
the  picture  before  him,  observed  his  friend. 
Waldron's  face  was  not  what  might  be  called 
an  expressive  one;  it  was  the  face  of  a  man  who 
had  learned  not  to  show  what  he  might  be 
feeling.  There  was  no  mask  there;  only  cool 
and  balanced  control,  coupled  with  the  keenest 
observation.  But  Julius  imagined  that  Wal- 
dron's close-set  lips  relaxed  a  little  as  he  stared 
at  Dorothy. 

The  party  came  on  into  the  inn;  the  sound  ol 
their  voices  and  laughter  died  away.  Some 
young  people  at  a  table  near,  who  also  had 
been  looking  out  of  a  window,  made  various 
comments  to  which  Julius  listened  with 
interest. 

"Swell-looking  lot.    Wonder  who  they  are." 

"Must  be  the  bridal  party  they  have  here 
to-night.    Dining  privately." 

"Awfully  pretty  girls,"  was  one  young 
woman's  opinion;   "better  looking   than   the 


224  THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE 

men.  Why  are  the  men  in  bridal  parties 
never  as  good  looking  as  you  expect?" 

"Bridegroom  doesn't  want  himself  cut  out. 
He  has  no  advantage  of  a  veil  and  train; 
he  has  to  stand  out  in  his  raw  black  and  white 
and  compete  with  the  other  men  on  his  own 
merits." 

"I  wonder  if  that  was  the  bride,  that  prettiest 
girl  in  front." 

"Don't  know.  Probably.  If  she  is,  the 
chap's  lucky  who  gets  her." 

Juhus  felt  a  desire  to  get  up  and  explain  that 
his  sister  was  nobody's  bride,  and  wasn't 
going  to  be  anybody's  until  the  right  man  came 
along.  Instead  he  sat  still  and  stared  at  his 
plate.  As  he  had  watched  his  sister  coming 
toward  him,  with  Ridgeway  Jordan  beside  her 
looking  into  her  face  with  that  look  of  eager 
hopefulness,  he  had  experienced  a  powerful 
longing  to  go  out  and  lead  Ridge  away  to  some 
secluded  spot  and  explain  to  him  that  he  wasn't 


THE  TIME  OF  fflS  LIFE  225 

good  enough.  It  wasn't  as  if  there  were  any- 
thmg  agamst  young  Jordan;  there  was  certainly 
nothing  specific.  Julius  found  himself  wishing 
there  were. 

Upon  the  bluff  in  the  cool  darkness  the  two 
young  men  spent  the  following  hour,  enjoying 
to  the  full  the  refreshing,  woods-laden  breath 
of  the  night  air,  their  pipes  sending  up  clouds 
of  fragrant  smoke  and  keeping  them  free  from 
the  onslaughts  of  the  insects  which  otherwise 
at  that  hour  would  have  been  very  annoying. 
From  time  to  time  Julius  lighted  matches  and 
consulted  the  imrelenting  face  of  his  watch. 
They  did  not  talk  much;  it  was  a  time  for 
silence  and  the  comradeship  of  silence. 

The  station  at  which  the  train  would  stop 
was  not  a  dozen  rods  from  the  hotel.  Until 
the  last  minute,  therefore,  they  could  linger. 
But  at  half  after  nine  JuHus  sprang  up. 

"Let's  go  back  to  the  hotel  and  wait  on  the 
porch,"  he  proposed. 


226  THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE 

The  two  paced  back  to  the  porch,  which 
hummed  with  talk.  The  whole  small  company 
of  the  imi's  few  permanent  guests  was  gathered 
there,  obviously  to  see  the  bridal  party  when 
it  should  appear  and  take  to  its  motors.  There 
was  not  much  to  amuse  hotel  guests  up  here 
in  the  mountains;  they  could  not  afford  to 
miss  so  interesting  a  departure. 

From  not  far  in  the  distance  suddenly  a 
whistle  pierced  the  night  air. 

"I  say,  that's  too  bad!"  cried  Julius  low  to 
his  friend.  "I  hoped  they*d  come  out  before 
you  had  to  go  and  you  could  meet  Dot.  Just 
our  luck!" 

"We'd  better  be  off,"  said  Waldron,  and  he 
led  the  way.  It  was  a  flag  station,  as  he  had 
learned,  and  he  could  not  afford  to  lose  the  train. 
It  would  be  after  midnight  before  he  could  get 
back  to  the  city  as  it  was,  and  he  was  to  leave 
the  city  at  nine  in  the  morning  for  his  long 
absence. 


THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE.  a»7 

Someone  was  waving  a  lantern  as  they  ap- 
proached  the  station.  The  forest  hid  the  track 
in  both  directions,  but  the  roar  of  the  nearing 
train  could  now  be  plainly  heard. 

Walking  fast,  a  trifle  in  advance,  Waldron 
suddenly  turned  and  spoke  over  his  shoulder: 
"  I  suppose  my  ears  deceive  me,  but  that  cer- 
tainly soimds  as  if  it  w«:e  coming  from  the 
wrong  direction." 

"Your  ears  do  deceive  you,  of  course," 
Julius  responded.  "All  soimds  are  queer  in 
the  night.  Still — ^by  George!  it  certainly  does 
seem  to  come  from " 

The  train,  puffing  and  panting  from  its  pull 
up  the  grade,  now  showed  its  headlight  througk 
the  trees.  There  was  no  question  about  it, 
it  was  coming  from  the  wrong  direction,  and 
therefore,  unquestionably,  was  going  in  the 
wrong  direction. 

"Must  be  two  trains  pass  here,"  cried 
Julius,  and  he  ran  ahead  to  the  hotel  hand  who 


228  THE  TIME  OF  fflS  LIFE 

was  still  waving  his  lantern,  although  the  train 
was  slowing  to  a  standstill.  "There's  another 
train  to-night?"  he  questioned. 

"No,  sh:.    This  one's  all  the'  is  to-night." 

Julius   turned   and   looked   at   his   friend. 
"Well,  I  certainly  have  got  you  into  a  nicej 
scrape, "  he  said  solemnly. 

"It  looks  like  it,"  Waldron  answered  shortly.^ 
"The  thing  is  now,  how  to  get  out  of  it.  We 
must  hire  something  and  drive  back — or  to  a 
station  somewhere." 

They  debated  the  question.  They  hurried 
back  to  the  office  and  interviewed  the  manage- 
ment, which  shook  its  head  dubiously.  The 
little  mountain  resort  was  far  from  stations 
where  trains  could  be  had  for  the  city  fifty 
miles  away.  The  inn  had  no  conveyance  to 
ofEer  except  one  work  team  of  horses  and  a 
wagon,  guests  invariably  coming  by  train  or 
motor.  There  were  three  automobiles  out  on 
the  driveway,  but  they  belonged  to  the  bridal 


THE  TIME  OF  fflS  LIFE  229 

party.  There  had  been  other  automobiles,  but 
they  had  all  left  soon  after  dinner,  their  pas- 
sengers having  come  for  the  dinner  only,  and 
proceeding  on  their  way  in  time  to  make  some 
other  stopping  place  by  bedtime.  There 
seemed  to  be  no  way  to  get  Waldron  back 
except  to  ask  a  favour  of  Ridgeway  Jordan. 

Kirke  Waldron  knit  his  brows  when  Julius 
made  this  suggestion  as  a  last  resort.  "I 
certainly  hate  to  ask  such  a  favour  in  the  cir- 
cmnstances,"  he  said.    "But  it*s  a  case  of 

'must.'    I  wouldn't  miss  that  ship  to-morrow 

I 

morning  for  any  sima  you  could  name;  I  can't 
miss  it." 

"I'll  caU  Ridge  out,"  said  Julius  promptly, 
**or — ^well,  good  luck!  here  he  comes." 

Wheeling,  he  advanced  to  meet  a  slim  young 
man  who  was  hurrying  down  the  wide  stair- 
case to  the  lobby.  Jordan's  first  glance  was 
one  of  astonishment,  his  second  of  suspicion. 
The  reputation  of  Julius  Broughton  for  mischief.! 


23©  THE  TIME  OF  fflS  LIFE 

particularly  at  times  like  these,  was  one  not  to 
be  lightly  overlooked.  But  Julius's  air  of 
earnestness  was  disarming. 

"No  joking,  Ridge, "  he  said.  " Mr.  Waldron 
and  I  wandered  over  here  on  a  long  tramp. 
Dot  wouldn't  tell  me  where  you  people  were 
going.  We  meant  to  take  the  train  at  nine 
forty-five,  but — ^well,  you  know  timetables.  It 
turned  out  to  be  an  up  train  instead  of  a  down 
train.  It  was  all  my  fault.  It  wouldn't  matter, 
but  Mr.  Waldron  will  miss  a  more  than  import- 
ant engagement  with  a  ship  sailing  for  South 
America  if  he  doesn't  get  badt  to  catch  the 
eleven-fifty  to  town.  You  see  there  isn't  a 
conveyance  here " 

But  of  course  there  was  no  need  to  explain 
further.  Jordan  was  a  gentleman,  and  even 
if  he  had  doubted  Julius  there  was  no  doubting 
the  expression  in  the  eyes  of  the  man  to  whom 
Juliiis  now  presented  him.  Young  Jordan 
knew  a  man  of  serious  affairs  when  he  saw  one; 


THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE  231 

unquestionably  he  saw  one  now.  He  promptiy 
offered  seats  in  one  of  the  cars. 

Waldron  expressed  his  regret  that  they  should 
be  obliged  to  force  themselves  upon  a  private 
party,  and  Jordan  assured  him  that  it  would  be 
a  pleasure  to  serve  them,  although  he  said  it 
with  one  more  appraising  glance  at  Julius. 
He  added  that  he  would  take  them  in  his  own 
car,  that  being  the  only  one  which  had  two 
seats  to  spare.  As  JuUus  had  noted  this  fact 
in  the  morning  he  was  not  surprised,  •  only 
grateful  that  he  had  not  had  to  scheme  for 
this  distribution  of  the  company. 

Jordan  went  to  the  desk  and  gave  an  order, 
then  returned  to  his  party  upstairs, 

Julius  and  Waldron  retired  to  the  porch. 

Presently  the  party  came  trooping  out,  ar- 
rayed for  the  trip.  Dorothy  in  an  enveloping 
white  coat,  her  hat  replaced  by  a  particularly 
effective  little  rose-coloured  bonnet  of  her  own 
clever  manufacture,  found  herself  confronted 


232  THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE 

upon  the  lantem-lighted  porch,  as  she  was  about 
to  step  into  the  car,  by  her  brother  with  a 
strange  man  at  his  elbow. 

She  looked  straight  up  at  him,  as  Julius  pre- 
sented him.  He  looked  straight  down  at  her, 
and  for  an  appreciable  period  of  time  the  two 
pairs  of  eyes  continued  to  dwell  upon  each 
other.  Until  this  extraordinarily  thorough 
mutual  survey  was  over  neither  said  a  word. 
The  rest  of  the  party,  diverting  themselves 
with  the  usual  laughter  and  badinage — some 
of  it  of  a  recognizably  sleepy  character — took 
their  places,  and  only  those  nearest  noted  the 
addition  to  the  list  of  passengers.  The  othei 
man  and  girl  of  Jordan's  car  were  an  engaged 
pair,  absorbed  in  each  other,  an  astute  reason 
for  his  selection  of  them  to  accompany  himself 
and  Dorothy. 

The  rear  seat  of  the  great  car  easily  held  four 
people.  Ashworth  and  Miss  Vincent  occupied 
two  of  the  places;  during  the  day  Jordan  and 


THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE  233 

Dorothy  had  held  the  oth^r  two.  Ashworth 
had  already  handed  in  Miss  Vincent.  The  two 
chaperons  of  the  party  young  Jordan  had 
throughout  the  day  thoughtfully  bestowed  in 
the  other  cars. 

"Put  my  friend  beside  Sis,  wiU  you,  Ridge?" 
suggested  Julius  in  his  host's  ear.  "They  used 
to  be  old  schoolmates  and  haven't  met  for 
years.  He's  off  to-morrow  for  a  long  stay.  It's 
their  only  chance  to  talk  over  old  times." 

Jordan  nodded;  there  was  nothing  else  to 
do.  He  could  joyfully  have  taken  his  friend 
Julius  by  the  scruff  of  his  neck  and  hurled  him 
out  into  the  night,  if  by  some  miracle  he  could 
suddenly  have  become  that  yoimg  man's  supe- 
rior in  strength.  But  social  training  prevailed 
over  natural  brute  instinct,  and  it  was  with 
entire  politeness  that  he  made  this  arrangement 
of  his  guests. 

He  then  put  Julius  into  the  seat  beside  the 
chauffeur,  and  himself  took  one  of  the  extra 


234  THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE 

folding  seats,  swinging  it  about  to  half  face 
those  upon  the  rear  seat.  In  this  manner  he 
was  nearly  as  close  to  Miss  Dorothy  Broughton 
as  he  would  have  been  be^de  her — ^nearly,  but 
not  quite!  To  his  notion  there  was  all  the 
difference  in  the  world. 

Kirke  Waldron,  understanding  intuitively  the 
position  as  come-between  in  which  he  had  been 
placed  in  Ridgeway  Jordan's  big  automobile  by 
JuUus's  misreading  of  the  railway  timetable, 
and,  as  far  as  that  part  of  the  situation  was  con- 
cerned, wishing  himself  a  hundred  miles  away, 
was  also  keenly  alive  to  that  which  the  gods — 
and  Julius — ^had  given  him  by  seating  him 
beside  Dorothy.  As  the  car  hummed  down  the 
long  trail  from  the  inn  he  played  his  part  with 
all  the  discretion  of  which  he  was  capable; 
and  he  had  learned  many  things  since  the  days 
when  he  had  fallen  over  his  own  awkward 
feet  on  the  way  to  the  blackboard.  He  talked 
a  little  with  Dorothy — not  too  much;  he  talked 


THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE  235 

considerably  more  with  Ridgeway  Jordan — ^but 
not  more  than  was  necessary;  the  greater  part 
of  the  time  he  was  silent  with  the  rest,  as  was 
most  fitting  of  all  in  the  summer  moonlight 
and  the  balmy  night  air. 

Dorothy,  sitting  beside  him,  reminded  Julius, 
as  from  time  to  time  he  glanced  contentedly 
back  at  her  from  his  place  beside  the  chauffeur, 
of  a  particularly  demure  kitten  in  the  presence 
of  two  well-bred  but  definitely  intentioned 
hunting  dogs.  She  was  very  quiet,  and  only 
now  and  then  he  caught  a  word  or  two  from  her 
or  the  low  sound  of  her  attractive  contralto 
laugh. 

Just  once,  as  the  car  whirled  through  a 
brightly  lighted  square  in  a  small  village  where 
a  country  festival  of  some  sort  was  in  progress, 
he  saw  her  take  advantage  of  a  moment  when 
everybody's  attention  was  caught  by  the  scene, 
and  look  suddenly  and  absorbedly  at  Kirke 
Waldron*s  face  in  profile.    But  when  Ridge 


236  THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE 

Jordan  whirled  about  upon  his  folding  seat, 

to  call  her  attention  to  the  antics  of  a  clown  in 

the  square,  she  was  ready  for  him  with  a  smile 

and  a  gay  word  of  assent.    Julius  laughed  to 

himself.    There  was  no  question  that  Kirke's 

face,  even  in  profile,  was  one  to  make  Ridge's 

look  insignificant.    As  for  the  man  himself 

The  car,  rushing  on  through  the  summer 

night,  its  powerful  searchlights  sending  ahead 

a  long,  clear  lane  of  safety  where  the  road  was 

straight,  but  making  the  dark  walls  on  either 

side  resolve  into  black  pockets  of  mystery  where 

t 
the  curves  came,  approached  one  of  those  long, 

winding  descents,  followed  by  a  second  abrupt 

turn  and  a  corresponding  ascent,  which  are — 

or  should  be — the  terror  of  motorists.    All  good 

drivers,   at   such   places,   hurling   themselves 

through  the  darkness,  sound  warning  signals, 

lest  other  cars,  less  cautious,  be  rushing  toward 

them  without  sound  of  their  coming. 

Jordan's  chauffeur,  sending  his  car  on  down 


THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE  237 

the  winding  hill  with  hardly  appreciable  loss 
of  speed,  took  this  precaution,  and  the  mellow 
but  challenging  notes  of  his  horn  were  winding 
a  long  warning  when  the  thing  happened  which 
was  to  happen.  No  accident,  but  the  horror 
of  one  which  comes  so  close  that  it  all  but 
seizes  its  victims,  and  leaves  them  weak  and 
shuddering  with  what  might  have  been. 

Another  car  dashed  around  the  lower  turn, 
apparently  not  hearing  the  warning,  or  deter- 
mined to  ignor  it,  that  no  momentmn  with 
which  to  climb  the  steep  grade  coming  should 
be  lost.  There  was  an  instant  in  which  the  two 
drivers  glimpsed  each  other  out  of  the  gloom  of 
the  unHghted  curve;  then  quick  action  upon  the 
part  of  both — ^hghtning-like  swerves  to  avoid  the 
danger — ^two  great  cars  rocking  each  on  the  brink 
of  disaster,  then  righting  themselves  and  running 
on  into  safety,  no  pausing  to  let  any  look  back 
and  ponder  upon  the  closeness  of  the  escape. 
[  It  was  aU  over  so  quickly  that  it  was  like 


238  THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE 

the  swift  passage  of  a  hideous  thought,  but 
there  had  been  time  for  every  soul  in  the  car 
to  look  death  in  the  face.  And  in  that  moment 
of  peril  there  had  been  individual  action — 
instantaneous — the  action  which  is  instinctive 
and  bom  of  character. 

JuUus  himself  had  sat  absolutely  still  beside 
the  chauffeur,  his  muscles  tensely  bracing  them- 
selves for  whatever  might  come.  Ashworth 
had  caught  Miss  Vincent,  rigid  with  fear,  into 
his  arms.  Waldron,  throwing  up  the  arm  next 
to  Dorothy  to  grasp  her  with  it,  felt  her  hand 
leap  toward  him,  and  with  his  free  hand  seized 
it  in  his  own. 

Staring  straight  ahead  then  they  saw  a  strange 
thing,  yet  not  so  strange  when  one  remembers 
human  nature.  Ridgeway  Jordan  had  leaped  to 
his  feet  and  thrown  one  leg  over  the  side  of  the 
car  ready  to  jump,  when,  before  he  could  com- 
plete the  movement,  the  car  righted  itself  and 
he  sank  back  into  his  seat. 


THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE  239 

"Holy  smoke!"  Julius  murmured  under  his 
breath,  and  glanced  at  the  chauffeur. 

That  nearly  imperturbable  youth  gnmted  in 
return.  His  hands  were  steady  upon  the  wheel, 
but  he  laughed  a  httle  shakily. 

Then  Julius  gazed  back  into  the  depths  of  the 
car.  He  could  not  see  much,  for  the  trees  at 
this  point  were  heavily  overshadowing  the  road, 
but  he  made  out  that  Ridge  Jordan  was  sitting 
stiffly  in  his  seat,  with — strange  to  observe!— his 
head  turned  toward  the  front  of  the  car.  B  ehind 
him  the  other  figures  were  still  and  silent. 
Julius  guessed  that  nobody  felt  like  speaking;  he 
did  not  feel  like  it  himself.  It  had  been  a  little 
too  near  a  thing  to  discuss  at  first  hand. 

Dorothy,  her  heart  beating  in  a  queer,  throat- 
choking  way,  became  conscious  that  her  hand 
was  held  close  and  warm  in  another  hand.  An 
arm  that  had  been  about  her,  whose  clasp  she 
had  not  consciously  felt  but  now  remembered, 
had  been  withdrawn  at  the  moment  that  the 


S40  THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE 

danger  had  passed.  But  evidently — ^for  the 
car  had  now  gone  a  quarter  of  a  mile  beyond  the 
crucial  point  and  was  running  smoothly  along  a 
wider  and  less  dangerous  highway — ^her  hand 
had  been  imprisoned  in  this  strange  grasp  for 
some  time. 

She  made  a  gentle  but  decided  effort  to  with- 
draw it,  an  effort  which  secured  its  release  at 
once  but  brought  a  low  question  in  her  ear: 

"Are  you  all  right?" 

"I — think  so,"  she  murmured  in  reply. 

It  was  not  only  the  shock  of  the  just  avoided 
danger  which  held  her  in  its  grip,  but  the  other 
and  even  more  startling  revelations  which  had 
come  with  it.  Her  head  was  whirling,  her  pulses 
were  thrilling  with  the  conflict  of  new  and 
strange  impressions.  Since  three  minutes  ago 
a  new  Heaven  and  an  old  earth  had  suddenly 
shown  themselves. 

The  low  voice  pressed  the  question:  "Not 
faint — nor  frightened?  " 


THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE  *  241 

She  looked  up  at  him  then  for  an  instant, 
although  she  could  barely  see  the  outlines  of  his 
face.  "Not  with  you  here,"  she  answered 
breathlessly,  with  the  impulse  toward  absolute 
honesty  with  which  such  an  experience  some- 
times shakes  the  spirit  out  of  its  convention- 
aUties. 

He  was  like  a  statue  beside  her  for  the  space 
of  six  of  her  heartbeats.  Then  his  hand  again 
found  hers,  pressed  it  in  both  of  his,  and  let  it 
go;  and  his  quiet  speech,  the  note  deeper  than 
before,  came  once  more  in  her  ear: 

"I  shall  never  forget  that." 

They  went  on  in  silence. 

After  a  time  Ridge  Jordan  turned  about  and 
made  a  carefuUy  worded  inquiry  into  the  com- 
fort of  his  guests,  which  they  answered  with  as 
careful  assurances  that  they  were  entirely  com- 
fortable and  confident. 

Ridge 's  voice  was  not  quite  natural.  A  biting 
shame  was  harassing  him,  whose  only  allevia- 


242  THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE 

tion  was  the  possibility  that  nobody — or  at  least 
Dorothy — ^had  noticed  in  the  excitement  of  the 
part  that  he  had  played.  He  was  saying  to 
himself,  wretchedly,  that  he  had  not  known  it 
of  himself,  that  he  could  not  have  believed  it  of 
himself.  How  could  he  have  done  it — ^have 
had  the  impulse,  even,  to  leap  to  safety  and 
leave  her  behind?  Had  she  seen — ^had  she 
seen?  Yet  when,  after  a  time,  she  leaned  for- 
ward and  spoke  to  him  of  her  own  accord,  her 
voice  was  so  kind,  rang  with  such  a  golden  note, 
that  he  felt  with  sudden  rehef  that  she  could 
not  have  seen. 

He  turned  about  and  began  to  talk  again, 
growing  more  and  more  secure  in  his  belief 
that  at  the  supreme  moment  of  danger  nobody 
had  thought  of  anybody  but  himself  or  herself, 
and  by  the  time  the  car  drew  into  the  home 
town  Jordan  was  serene  again. ' 

Under  the  J&rst  of  the  arc  lights  Julius  took 
coimsel  with  his  watch.    He  swung  about  and 


THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE  243 

spoke  tersely:  "You  and  I*d  better  jump  out 
here  and  make  the  station,  Waldron.  It's 
closer  to  train  time  than  I  thought.  We're 
awfully  obliged  to  you,  Ridge." 

"  We'll  go  that  way.  It's  only  a  block  or  two 
out  of  our  course,"  Jordan  insisted,  eager  to 
speed  the  parting  guest. 

The  car  drew  toward  the  string  of  electrics 
which  lighted  the  small  suburban  station  at 
which  Waldron  had  arrived  in  the  morning. 
The  glancing,  silver-arrowed  radiance  illumined 
the  whole  interior  of  the  car  under  its  wide- 
spreading,  hooded  top.  Waldron  could  see 
Dorothy's  brilliant  eyes,  the  curve  of  her  lips, 
the  rose  colour  in  her  cheeks  repeating  warmly 
the  deeper  rose  colour  of  the  Httle  silk  bonnet 
which  kept  her  dark  hair  in  order — all  but  one 
wild-willed  Httle  curly  strand  which  had  escaped 
and  was  blowing  about  her  face.  Dorothy,  in 
her  turn,  could  see  Waldron's  clean-cut,  pur- 
poseful face,  his  deep-set  eyes,  the  modelling 


244  THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE 

of  his  strong  mouth  and  chm,  the  fine  line  of 
his  cheek. 

As  they  had  looked  at  each  other  when  they 
first  met,  so  they  looked  at  each  other  again 
before  they  parted.  Yet  between  that  meeting 
and  that  parting  something  had  happened.  It 
was  in  his  eyes  as  he  looked  at  her;  it  was  in  her 
eyes  as  for  one  instant,  before  she  dropped  be- 
wildering lashes,  she  gave  him  back  his  look. 
It  meant  that  South  America  was  not  so  far 
away  but  that  a  voyager  could  come  back  over 
the  same  high  seas  which  had  conveyed  him 
there.    And  that  when  he  came 

"I'm  grateful  to  you,  Mr.  Jordan,"  Waldron 
said,  shaking  hands  beside  the  car,  "more  than 
I  can  say  to  you.  You  have  done  me  a  greater 
kindness  than  you  know.  Good-night — to  you 
all!" 

He  went  away  with  Julius  without  a  glance 
behind  after  the  salute  of  his  lifted  hat,  which 
included  everybody. 


THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE  245 

By  some  common  impulse  the  rest  of  the 
party  all  looked  after  the  two  as  they  walked 
away  toward  the  station  door. 

"Seems  like  an  imcommonly  nice  chap," 
was  Ashworth's  comment.  "I'll  wager  he's 
something,  somewhere." 

"He  has  a  very  interesting  face,"  his  fianc6e 
conceded. 

"Yes,  hasn't  he?"  Dorothy  agreed  lightly, 
something  evidently  being  expected  of  her. 

"He  may  be  the  tenth  wonder  of  the  world, " 
declared  Ridgeway  Jordan,  springing  in  to 
take  his  old  place  beside  her  for  the  drive  of 
an  eighth  of  a  mile  left  to  him;  "but  I  grudge 
him  this  hour  by  you.  Jove,  but  I  thought 
the  drive  would  never  end!" 

Julius,  after  seeing  his  friend  off  with  a  sense 
of  comradeship  more  worth  while  than  any  he 
had  known,  walked  rapidly  back,  eager  for  a 
word  with  Dorothy.  Quick  as  he  was,  howevar, 
she  was  quicker,  and  he  found  her  locked  into 


246  THE  TIME  OF,  HIS  LIFE 

her  own  room.  By  insisting  on  talking  through 
the  door  he  got  her  to  open  it,  but  there  was  not 
so  much  satisfaction  in  this  as  he  had  expected, 
because  she  had  extinguished  her  lights. 

"How  did  you  like  him?"  was  his  first  eager 
question. 

"Very  well,"  said  a  cool,  low  voice  in  the 
darkness.  "Much  better  than  the  trick  you 
used  to  carry  out  your  wishes." 

"Trick!"  her  brother  exclaimed,  all  the  angel 
innocence  he  could  summon  in  his  voice. 
"When  you  wouldn't  tell  me  a  word  of  where 
you  were  going!" 

"You  guessed  it.  It  was  abominable  of 
you." 

"Oh,  see  here!  If  I  hadn't  managed  it  you 
wouldn't  have  seen  him — ^and  he  wouldn't  have 
seen  you." 

"And  what  of  that?"  queried  the  cool  voice, 
cool  but  sweet.  Dot's  voice,  even  in  real  anger, 
was  never  harsh. 


THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE  247 

"Well,  what  of  it?"  was  the  counter-question. 
"Can  you  honestly  say  you  wish  you  hadn't 
met  him,  a  real  man  like  that?" 

There  was  silence.  Julius  moved  cautiously 
across  the  room,  avoiding  chairs  as  best  he 
could.  "Be  honest  now.  Isn't  he  the  real 
thing?    And  isn't  Ridge  Jordan " 

"  Please  don't  talk  about  poor  Ridge  that  way, 
Jule." 

"Poor  Ridge!"  cried  JuHus.  "WeU,  weU, 
you  didn't  speak  of  him  that  way  this  morning. 
What's  happened?  " 

"Nothing  has  happened.    That  is " 

He  came  close.  There  was  a  queer  little 
shake  in  Dorothy's  voice.  She  began  to  laugh 
then  quite  suddenly  to  cry.  Julius  came  near 
enough  to  pat  her  down-bent  head. 

"Did  that  confounded  close  caU  shake  you 
up  a  bit?"  he  inquired  sympathetically.  "By 
George!  when  I  think  what  I  let  you  and  Kirke 
and  everybody  in  for,  starting  earlier  than  they 


34S  THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE 

meant  and  all  that,  so  we  were  just  in  time 
to  meet  that  fool  in  the  worst  place  on  the 
road " 

Dorothy  looked  up.  To  his  astonishment 
she  sprang  to  her  feet  and  clasped  him  about 
the  neck,  burying  her  face  on  his  shoulder. 
She  began  to  say  something  into  his  ear,  laugh- 
ing and  crying  at  the  same  time,  so  that  all  he 
was  at  length  able  to  gather  was  that  she 
didn't  regret  the  close  call  at  all,  for  it  had 
shown  her — had  shown  her 

Julius  had  not  seen  Ridge  Jordan  make  his 
move  to  spring  from  the  car,  but  he  had  felt 
it — felt  Ridge's  hand  strike  his  shoulder,  his 
knee  hit  his  back.  He  had  not  taken  in  its 
meaning  at  the  instant,  but  when  he  had  turned 
about  and  seen  Ridge  sitting  stiffly  facing  ahead 
it  came  to  him  what  had  happened  at  the  crisis. 
He  had  wondered  whether  Dot  had  seen  it 
Now  he  knew.  Not  that  she  said  it.  In  fact, 
she  said  nothing  inteUigible,  but  she  held  her 


THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE  249 

brother  tight  before  she  sent  him  away;  and 
somehow  he  understood  that  Fate  had  helped 
him  to  show  Dorothy  her  "real  man." 

Somehow  she  had  known  that  Waldron  would 
write.  It  was  impossible  to  recall  his  face  and 
not  know  that  he  was  a  man  of  action.  He 
would  not  go  away  for  six  months  and  leave 
behind  him  only  a  memory  to  hold  her  thoughts 
to  his.  She  wondered  only  when  his  letter 
would  come. 

Four  times  a  day  the  postman  was  accustomed 
to  leave  the  mail  in  an  interesting  heap  upon  the 
table  in  Mrs.  Jack  Elliot's  hall.  Dorothy,  from 
the  very  morning  after  the  trip  to  Saxifrage 
Inn,  had  found  herself  scanning  the  pile  with  a 
curious  sense  of  anticipation.  She  wondered 
what  Waldron's  handwriting  was  like.  She 
recalled  his  workmanlike  little  figures  upon  the 
blackboard,  and  made  up  her  mind  that  his 
penmanship  would  be  of  a  similar  character,, 
compact   and   regular.    Another   man   would 


2SO  THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE 

have  sent  her  flowers  before  he  sailed.  In- 
stinctively she  knew  that  Waldron  would  not 
do  this;  she  did  not  expect  nor  wish  it.  But 
he  would  write — unquestionably.  How  would 
he  write?  That  was  the  question  which  made 
her  pulses  thrill. 

It  was  some  time  before  the  letter  came,  as 
she  had  guessed  it  would  be.  He  had  written 
on  shipboard,  and  the  letter  came  back  to  her 
from  Greater  Inagua,  the  first  West  Indian 
island  at  which  his  ship  had  touched.  Coming 
in  one  September  evening  from  a  long  walk 
through  the  hazy  air,  its  breath  fragrant  with 
the  peculiar  pungent  odour  of  distant  forest 
fires,  Dorothy  foimd  the  letter  on  the  haU 
table.  She  knew  it  was  his  before  she  saw  the 
postmark;  recognized,  as  if  she  had  often  seen 
it,  the  clean  cut,  regular  lettering,  the  mark  of 
the  man  of  exactness  and  order,  of  the  well- 
trained  mind.  Her  heart  leaped  at  sight  of  it, 
a  heart  which  had  never  before  really  leaped  at 


.  THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE  251 

sight  of  any  man's  handwriting.  She  picked 
up  the  letter  and  went  away  upstairs  with  it 
to  her  room.    Here  she  locked  the  door. 

She  placed  the  letter  upon  her  dressing-table 
and  studied  its  envelope  while  she  removed  her 
dress,  brushed  and  arranged  her  hair,  and  put 
on  the  frock  she  intended  to  wear  for  the  eve- 
ning; she  was  going  with  Tom  Wendell  to  a 
small  dance  at  the  home  of  a  special  friend. 
She  did  not  open  the  letter,  but  left  it,  un- 
(^)ened,  propped  up  against  a  little  pink  silk 
piucushion,  giving  it  one  last  glance  as  she 
switched  off  the  light  before  closing  the  door. 

On  the  evening  of  the  Clifford- Jordan  wed- 
ding Ridgeway  Jordan,  brother  of  the  bride 
and  best  man  to  the  bridegroom,  had  offered 
himself  in  marriage  to  the  maid  of  honour, 
Dorothy  Broughton.  She  had  done  her  best 
to  prevent  him,  but  he  had  reached  such  a  stage 
of  despairing  passion  that  he  could  no  longer 
be  managed  and  did  the  deed  at  a  moment 


iiS2  THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE 

when  she  could  not  escape.  Being  gently  but 
firmly  refused,  he  had  declared  his  life  to  be 
irretrievably  ruined  and  immediately  after  the 
wedding  had  flung  himself  out  of  town,  vowing 
that  she  should  not  be  bothered  with  the  sight 
of  the  work  her  hands  had  wrought.  When 
another  long-time  friend,  Thomas  Wendell, 
seized  the  opportunity  of  Ridge's  absence  to 
further  his  own  claims  to  Dorothy's  prefer- 
ment, she,  profiting  by  painful  experience,  had 
somehow  made  it  clear  to  him  that  only  com- 
radeship was  in  her  thoughts.  Even  on  these 
tacit  terms  Wendell  was  eager  to  serve  as 
escort  whenever  she  would  allow  it. 

On  this  September  evening  he  was  on  hand 
early  and  bore  her  away  with  ill-concealed 
satisfaction.  "I  say,"  he  observed  suddenly 
in  the  pause  of  a  waltz,  "did  you  happen  to 
have  a  fortune  left  you  to-day?" 

"Why,  Tommy?"  Dorothy's  face  grew  in- 
stantly sober. 


THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE  253 

"Oh,  don't  turn  off  the  illumination.  I'm 
sorry  I  spoke.  It  was  only  that  you  somehow 
seemed — ^well,  not  exactly  unhappy  to-night, 
and  I  couldn't  get  at  the  cause.  I  should  like 
to  flatter  myself  that  I'm  the  cause,  but  I 
know  better." 

"I  must  be  a  gloomy  person  ordinarily  if 
there  seems  any  change  to-night.  Don't  be 
foolish,  Thomas;  I've  had  no  fortune  left  me; 
I  never  shall  have." 

She  felt  not  unlike  one  with  a  fortune,  how- 
ever, a  fortune  of  tmknown  character  about  to 
be  made  known  to  her,  as,  shortly  after  mid- 
night— ^Dorothy  kept  comparatively  early  hours 
when  she  went  to  dances — she  opened  the  door 
of  her  room  again.  Her  first  glance  was  for 
the  letter.  There  it  stood  as  she  had  left  it. 
More  than  once  during  the  evening  she  had 
caught  herself  fearing  that  something  might 
happen  to  it  in  her  absence.  She  might  find 
the  letter  gone — forever  gone — and  unread! 


SS4  THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE 

She  smiled  at  it  as  she  saw  it  standing  there, 
but  still  she  did  not  open  it.  She  took  off  her 
dancing  frock,  braided  her  hair  for  the  night 
in  two  heavy  plaits,  and  slipped  into  a  little 
loose  gown  of  cambric,  lace,  and  ribbon  before 
at  last  she  approached  the  waiting  letter. 

Why  she  did  all  this,  putting  off  the  reading 
of  it  until  the  latest  possible  moment,  only  a 
girl  like  Dorothy  Broughton  could  have  told. 
And  even  when  she  broke  the  seal  it  was  with 
apparently  reluctant  fingers.  It  was  so  de- 
Hghtful  not  to  know,  yet  to  be  upon  the  verge 
of  knowing!  But  as  soon  as  the  first  words 
met  her  eyes  there  was  no  longer  any  delay. 
She  read  rapidly,  her  glance  drinking  in  the 
letter  at  a  draught. 

On  Board  S.  S.  "Westerwald,"  Off  Greater  Inagua 

August  21,  19 — 

Dear  Dorothy  Broughton;  The  first  time  I  saw 

you  was  the  day  you  came  to  school  for  the  first  time. 

You  wore  a  blue  sailor  dress  with  a  white  emblem  on 

the  sleeve,  and  your  curly  black  hair  was  tied  with 


THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE  255 

red  ribbons.  You  did  not  see  me  that  day — ^nor  any 
other  day  for  a  long  time.  I  was  simply  not  in  your 
field  of  vision.  That  year  I  was  wearing  my  older 
brother's  suit,  and  I  had  pressed  him  rather  closely 
in  inheriting  it,  so  that  it  was  none  too  large  for  me. 
I  remember  that  the  sleeves  were  a  bit  short.  Anyhow, 
whether  it  was  the  fault  of  the  suit  or  not,  I  had  a 
a  very  indefinite  idea  what  to  do  with  my  feet  when 
they  were  not  in  action,  and  even  less  at  times  when 
they  were.  I  recall  vividly  that  there  seemed  to  be 
a  sort  of  groimd  swell  between  my  desk  and  the  black- 
board, so  that  I  never  could  walk  confidently  and  evenly 
from  one  to  the  other.  When  by  any  chance  I  imagined 
your  eyes  were  turned  my  way  the  ground  swell  be- 
came a  tidal  wave. 

Once,  just  once,  I  was  allowed  to  help  you  with  a 
lesson.  You  were  unable  to  make  head  or  tail  of  a 
problem  in  fractions;  I  don't  think  figures  were  your 
strong  point!  Miss  Edgewood  began  to  show  you; 
an  interruption  came  along.  I  happened  to  be  at 
her  elbow — I  had  a  sort  of  reputation  for  figures — she 
called  on  me  to  help  you  out.  I  remember  that  at 
the  simimons  my  heart  turned  over  twice,  and  its 
action  after  that  was  irregular,  affecting  my  breathing 
and  making  my  hand  shake.  Luckily  it  did  not  upset 
my  brain,  so  that  I  was  able  to  make  the  thing  clear  to 
you.  I  dared  not  look  at  you!  You  did  not  get  it 
at  first  and  you  stamped  your  foot  and  said:  "But 
I  don't  see  any  sense  to  it!"  I  replied  with  a  tremendous 
effort  at  lightening  the  situation:  "Plenty  of  cents, 
and  dollars,  too!"    At  which  you  turned  and  gave  me 


as6  THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE 

a  look — at  first  of  pride  and  anger,  then  melting  into 
appreciation  of  my  wit,  and  ending  by  blinding  me 
with  the  beauty  of  your  laughter!  We  went  on  from 
that  famously,  and  you  saw  the  thing  clearly  and 
thanked  me.  I  thought  I  knew  you  then — had  made 
myself  a  friend  of  yours.  Next  day,  alas!  you  passed 
me  with  a  nod.  But  I  never  forgot  what  it  might  be 
like  to  know  you. 

We  are  four  days  out  from  New  York — shall  caU  at 
Matthew  Town  to-day.  Another  eight  days  will 
bring  us  to  Puerto  Colombia;  then  for  the  river  trip 
which  will  take  me  within  thirty  miles  of  the  camp  in 
the  mountains.  When  I  am  up  at  the  mines  I  shall 
write  again.  My  address  wiU  be  Puerto  Andes, 
Colombia,  the  port  of  the  Company.  If  some  day, 
when  I  go  down  the  trail  to  send  off  my  report,  I 
should  find  a  letter  from  you,  I  should  go  back  the 
liappier. 

Meanwhile  I  am,        Faithfully  yours, 
KcRKE  Waldron. 

Dorothy  went  over  and  stood  by  the  window, 
gazing  out  into  the  September  night.  It  was 
an  unpretentious  letter  enough,  but  she  liked 
it — ^liked  it  very  much.  He  had  gone  back 
to  the  beginning,  picked  up  the  one  link  be- 
tween them  in  their  past,  the  fact  that  they  had 
been  schoolmates.    He  had  dared  to  remind 


THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE  257 

her  of  his  poverty,  of  his  awkward  schoolboy 
personality,  and  of  the  fact  that  even  in  those 
days  he  had  cared  how  she  might  regard  him. 
Well,  as  for  the  poverty,  she  knew  his  family; 
knew  that  it  was  of  good  stock,  that  his  parents 
were  people  of  education  and  refinement,  and 
that  circumstances  wholly  honourable  had  been 
the  cause  of  their  lack  of  resources. 

Should  she  answer  the  letter?  How  should 
she  not  answer  it?  Delay,  then,  lest  he  think 
her  too  eager  with  her  reply?  Why? — ^when  she 
knew  as  well  as  he,  and  he  as  well  as  she,  that 
the  thing  was  already  done,  that  the  mutual 
attraction  had  been  of  the  sort  which  holds 
steadily  to  the  end.  Yet,  being  a  woman,  she 
could  not  fling  herself  into  his  arms  at  the  first 
invitation.  And  indeed  he  had  not  invited. 
He  had  coimted  on  her  wish  to  begin  at  the 
beginning  and  play  the  beautiful,  thrilling  play 
through  to  the  end,  as  if  it  were  not  already 
decided  how  it  was  to  come  out.    The  fact 


2S8  THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE 

that  she  knew  how  it  was  to  come  out  would 
not  make  it  less  the  interesting  play — in  a 
world  where,  after  all,  strange  things  happen, 
so  that  no  man  may  see  the  end  from  the  begin- 
ning, nor  coimt  upon  as  inevitable  an  outcome 
which  all  the  fates  may  combine  to  threaten 
and  to  thwart. 

So  she  delayed  a  little  before  she  wrote.  She 
let  one  ship,  two  ships,  sail  without  her  mes- 
sage, so  that  it  would  not  be  at  the  first  tramp- 
ing of  the  trail  into  Puerto  Andes  that  he 
should  find  the  letter.  When  it  finally  left 
her  hands  it  was  a  very  Kttle  letter  after  all, 
and  one  which  it  could  not  be  imagined  would 
take  three  days  to  write — as  it  had! 

Dear  Mr.  Waldron:  I  think  I  know  quite  well  that 
the  little  girl  of  the  curly  black  hair,  red  ribbons,  and 
blue  sailor  dress  was  a  very  audacious,  pugnacious 
little  person,  and  I  wonder  that  you  were  willing  to 
help  her  through  the  tangle  of  fractions  as  you  did  so 
deverly.  I  well  remember  thinking  you  a  very  wonder- 
ful scholar,  but  you  were  so  much  older  than  I  that  I 
admit  not  thinking  about  you  very  much.    It  was  like 


THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE  259 

that  small  girl  to  stamp  her  ridiculous  foot;  she  has 
gone  on  stamping  it,  more  or  less,  all  her  life.  But 
I  believe  she  has  done  some  smiling,  too. 

It  will  be  very  interesting  to  hear  from  the  depths  of 
Colombia;  school  days  are  so  far  gone  by  I  had  to  look 
it  up  on  the  map.  Is  it  very  hot  there,  and  do  you  live 
on  bananas  and  breadfruit?  I  don't  mind  showing  how 
little  I  know,  because  then  you  may  teU  me  about  it, 
I  am  really  going  to  read  up  concerning  South  America 
at  once,  so  that  I  may  be  an  intelligent  if  not  a  "gentle" 
reader. 

Very  good  luck  to  you  there, 

Wished  you  by 

Dorothy  Beoughton. 

As  promptly  as  the  return  mails  could  bring 
her  a  reply  one  came,  although  it  was,  of  course, 
a  matter  of  weeks.  During  those  weeks  Dor- 
othy had  not  only  "read  up"  on  the  subject  of 
South  America  with  especial  reference  to  Colom- 
bia; she  had  also  posted  herself,  so  far  as  a 
general  reader  may,  concerning  the  rather  com- 
prehensive subject  of  mining  engineering.  This 
knowledge  helped  her  to  an  understanding  of 
Waldron's  next  letter.  He  gave  her  a  brief 
but  graphic  description  of  his  surroundings  in 


36o  THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE 

a  camp  upon  the  mountains,  reached  by  a 
trail  of  nearly  thirty  miles  from  Puerto  Andes. 
Certain  long-delayed  and  badly  needed  ma- 
chinery had  arrived  at  ten  o'clock  of  the  pre- 
vious evening,  packed  over  the  trail  by  mules. 
This  had  been  unloaded  by  three  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  the  engineers  had  been  so  glad  to  see 
the  stuff  at  last  that  they  had  been  imwilling 
to  go  at  once  to  bed,  tired  as  they  were.  The 
mail  had  come  in  by  the  same  route,  and  it 
had  been  by  the  smouldering  campfire  of  the 
early  morning  that  Waldron  had  read  his  letter 
from  Dorothy.  "Such  a  very  short  letter!" 
he  said  of  it,  and  continued: 


Yet  it  was  more  welcome  than  you  can  guess.  I 
had  done  a  lot  of  speculating  as  to  what  it  would 
look  like  when  it  came — if  it  came — and  it  looked  not 
Unlike  what  I  had  fancied.  I  was  sure  you  wouldn't 
write  one  of  those  tall,  angidar  hands,  ten  words  to  a 
page,  which  remind  one  of  linked  telegraph  poles. 
Neither  would  you  be  guilty  of  that  commonplace 
little  round  script  which  school-children  are  taught  now, 
and  which  goes  on  influencing  their  handwriting  all 


THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE  261 

their  days.  There  would  be  character  in  it,  thought 
I — and  there  was! 

It  made  me  long  for  more — that  letter!  I  wonder 
if  you  have  the  least  idea  what  it  feels  like  to  be  off  m 
a  country  like  this,  vour  only  real  companion  another 
engineer.  Splendid  fellow,  Hackett,  and  I  couldn't 
ask  a  better;  and  the  work  is  great.  But  there  comes 
an  hour  now  and  then  when  there  seems  more  beauty 
in  one  small  letter  postmarked  "home"  than  in  all 
the  gorgeous  sunsets  of  this  wonderful  country. 

May  I  write  often  and  at  length?  I  can  think  of 
no  happier  way  to  spend  the  hour  before  we  turn  in 
than  in  writing  to  you.  And  if  you  will  answer  my 
letters,  as  you  have  been  so  good  as  to  do  with  my 
first  one,  I  shall  have  the  most  compelling  reason  of 
my  life  to  watch  the  mails. 

I  want — as  I  wanted  when  a  schoolboy — "to  know 
you."  I  want  you  to  know  me.  There  is  no  way  in 
which  this  can  be  accomplished  for  a  long  time  to 
come  except  by  letters.  Won't  you  agree  to  this 
regular  interchange?  I  don't  mean  that  which  I  pre- 
sume you  mean  when  you  say  it  will  be  "interesting  to 
hear  from  Colombia."  You  mean,  I  suppose,  a  letter 
now  and  then,  at  the  intervals  which  conventionahty 
imposes  at  the  beginning  of  a  correspondence,  possibly 
shortening  as  time  goes  on,  but  taking  at  least  half 
a  year  to  get  under  way.  I  want  it  to  get  under 
way  at  once  I  We  can  receive  mail  but  once  a  fortnight 
at  the  best  up  here,  and  there  are  often  delays.  So  if 
you  answer  my  letters  as  soon  as  you  get  them  I  shaH 
not  hear  from  you  too  often.    Please! 


262  THE  TIME  OF  fflS  LIFE 

I  am  an  engineer,  you  know;  that  means  a  fellow 
who  is  trained  to  action — all  the  time.  If  he  can't 
get  results  fast  enough  by  working  his  men  by  day  he 
works  them  by  night  also — day-and-night  shifts — and 
works  with  them,  too,  much  of  the  time.  In  that  way 
— ^well,  samples  taken  from  our  south  drift  assay  more 
than  we  had  dared  to  hope  a  ton,  but  not  till  we  got 
well  in.  The  vein  may  pinch  out,  of  course,  but  there 
are  no  signs  of  it.  I  expect  it  to  widen  instead,  and 
grow  richer  in  quality.  So — ^if  youll  forgive  the  miner's 
analogy — with  another  vein  I  know  of — the  finest  sort 
of  gold! 


So  the  correspondence  began.  It  was  easy 
for  a  young  woman  of  Dorothy's  discernment 
to  see  that  here  was  no  case  for  a  long-distance 
flirtation,  if  she  had  wanted  one.  From  the 
moment  when  she  had  flung  her  left  hand  into 
Waldron's  right,  and  that  other  moment  when 
she  had  told  him  with  absolute  truth  that  she 
was  not  afraid  with  him  beside  her,  he  had  taken 
her  at  her  word.  She  could  not  play  with  him, 
even  if  he  had  been  near  her;  far  less  now  that 
thousands  of  miles  separated  them.  She  an- 
swered with  a  letter  of  twice  the  length  of  her 


THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE  263 

first  one,  a  gay  little  letter,  full  of  incident 
and  her  comments  thereon.  The  reply  came 
promptly,  and  this  time  it  was  a  long  one.  He 
told  her  many  details  of  the  situation  as  it  was 
developing  in  these  new,  extraordinarily  promis- 
ing mines;  and  she  foimd  it  as  fascinating  as 
a  fairy  tale.  But,  of  course,  although  she  read 
these  'pages  many  times  over,  she  read  more 
often  certain  opening  and  closing  passages. 
One  ran  like  this: 

Now  to  bed — and  to  work  again  with  the  dawn. 
While  I  am  writing  to  you  I  forget  everything  about 
me.  Natives  may  chatter  near  me;  I  don't  hear  them. 
My  friend  Hackett  may  come  and  fire  a  string  of 
questions  at  me;  he  tells  me  afterward  my  answers 
wouldn't  do  credit  to  a  monkey  on  a  stick.  I  am  lost 
in  the  attempt  to  put  your  face  before  me — ^your  face 
as  I  saw  it  last.  There  was  not  much  light  in  the  car, 
but  what  there  was  fell  on  your  face.  I  see  rose  colour 
always;  what  was  it — the  bonnet? — if  they  call  those 
things  bonnets!  I  see  more  rose  colour — reflection? 
I  see  a  pair  of  eyes  which  were  not  afraid  to  look  into 
mine — ^for  a  minute;  only  for  a  minute — but  I  can  see 
them. 

The  night  grows  cold.    Even  in  the  tropics  the  nig^xts 


t64  THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE 

may  be  cold  in  the  mountains.  My  fire  lias  burned 
down  to  a  few  coals.  My  bunk  awaits  me;  I  thought 
I  was  tired  when  I  sat  down  to  write.  I'm  not  tired 
now — refreshed ! 

Good-night!    Sleep  well — ^up  there  somewhere  in 
the  North  I 


After  this  letter  Dorothy  Broughton  went 
about  like  a  girl  in  a  dream. 

Yet  she  was  so  practical  a  girl,  had  been  so 
thoroughly  trained  to  fill  her  days  with  things 
worth  while,  that  she  was  able  to  keq>  up  a 
very  realistic  appearance  of  being  absorbed  in 
the  old  round  of  duties  and  pleasures.  She 
was  leading  a  life  by  no  means  idle  or  useless. 
As  for  the  happiness  of  it,  she  carried  about 
with  her  a  constant  sense  that  something 
wonderful  had  happened,  was  happening — and 
was  yet  to  happen — which  made  no  task  toa 
hard  for  her  newly  vitalized  spirit. 

The  day  before  Thanksgiving  the  arrival  of 
a  partiojlarly  thick  letter  from  Colombia  gave 
her  a  more  than  ordinarily  delightful  sense  of 


THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE  265 

anticipation.  Her  brother  Julius,  at  home  for 
the  annual  festival,  saw  it  upon  the  hall  table 
three  seconds  before  she  did,  and  captured  it. 
He  withdrew  from  his  breast  pocket  another 
letter  in  a  similar  handwriting  addressed  to 
himself.  With  an  expression  of  great  gravity 
he  compared  the  two  while  Dorothy  held  out 
her  hand  in  vain. 

"Don't  be  in  a  hurry,"  he  advised  her.'^ 
''There  is  a  curious  likeness  between  these 
two  addresses — ^not  to  mention  the  envelopes — 
which  interests  but  baffles  me.  The  word 
'B  rough  ton'  in  both  cases  begins  with  an  almost 
precisely  identical  B.  The  small  t  is  crossed  in 
almost  exactly  the  same  manner — ^with  a  black 
bar  of  ink  which  indicates  a  lavish  disposition. 
The  whole  address  upon  your  letter  seems  to 
me  to  bear  a  close  and  remarkable  resemblance 
to  the  address  upon  mine.  Another  point 
which  should  not  be  overlooked:  both  are 
postmarked  with  a   South  American   stampy-> 


266  THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE 

a  Colombian  stamp,  with — ^yes — with  the  same 
stamp.    What  can  this  mean?    I " 

"When  you  are  through  with  your  non- 
sense  "  Dorothy  still  extended  her  hand 

for  her  letter. 

JuUus  sat  down  upon  the  third  step  of  the 
staircase,  his  coimtenance  indicating  entire 
absorption  in  the  comparison  before  him.  He 
held  the  letters  in  one  hand;  with  his  other 
he  made  it  clear  to  his  sister  that  her  nearer 
approach  would  be  resisted.  "There  is  one 
point  where  the  likeness  fails,"  he  mused. 
"My  letter  is  an  ordinary  one  as  to  thickness; 
it  consists  of  two  meagre  sheets  of  rather  light- 
weight paper.  Your  letter,  on  the  other  hand, 
strikes  me  as  extraordinarily  bulky.  Now 
there " 


"Jule,  I'm  busy.    Will  you  please " 

"Just  as  I  get  on  the  trail  of  this  thing  you 
insist  on  diverting  my  mind,"  her  brother 
fDomplained  bitterly.     He  held  the  two  letters 


THE  TIME  OF  fflS  LIFE  267 

at  arm's  length,  continuing  to  study  them  while 
his  extended  hand  kept  his  sister  away.  But 
she  now  turned  and  walked  off  down  the  hall. 

He  looked  after  her  with  a  sparkle  in  his 
black  eyes.  "Sis,"  he  entreated,  "don't  go. 
I  need  your  help.  Have  you  by  any  chance 
an  inkling  as  to  the  sender  of  these  curiously 
similar  epistles?" 

She  turned.  Her  eyes  were  sparkling,  too. 
She  shook  her  head. 

"I'll  tell  you  what,"  cried  the  inspired 
Julius,  "let's  read  'em  together,  paragraph  by 
paragraph.  Look  here,  I  dare  you  to!"  he 
suddenly  challenged  her.  -  "  Mine  first."  Stuff- 
ing his  sister's  letter  into  his  pocket  he  spread 
forth  his  own.  "I  suppose  you  always  read 
the  last  page  first,"  said  he.  "I've  under- 
stood women  do.  So  well  begin  at  the  last 
page/.  Listen!" 

,  She  would  have  left  him  but  he  had  walked 
over  to  her  and  now  held  her  by  the  wrist  while 


268  THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE 

he  began  to  read.  It  was  impossible  for  her 
eyes  to  resist  the  drawing  power  of  that  now 
familiar  penmanship. 

In  this  way  forty-two  miles  of  trail  were  cleared  from 
ten  to  fourteen  feet  wide,  most  of  our  efforts  being 
concentrated  on  the  grading,  bridges,  and  corduroying. 
Four  pastures  were  cleaned  out,  of  about  seven,  six, 
and  four  cabullos  each,  or  about  twenty-three  to  twenty- 
six  acres  in  all.  These  pastures  were  burned  and  grass 
has  started  in  most  of  them.  We  built  palm  houses  or 
shacks  at  each  stopping-place.  We  feel  pretty  well 
satisfied  with  the  trail.  You  must  not  get  the  idea 
that  we  have  an  automobile  road,  for  we  haven't, 
but  we  are  now  much  better  prepared  to  handle  supplies 
and  machinery. 

Julius  looked  up.  "Suppose  yours  is  as 
thrilling  as  that?  Now  for  a  paragraph  of 
yours.    Shall  I  open  it  for  you?" 

But  by  a  quick  motion  she  escaped  him  and 
had  the  letter.  She  was  laughing  as  she  slipped 
it  into  some  unknown  place  about  her  dress. 

"Now  see  here,"  JuHus  persisted,  following 
her  up  the  stairs.  "I  have  to  look  into  this,  as 
a  brother.    Judging  by  the  bulk  of  that  letter 


THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE  269 

•iter  • 

it  is  not  the  first  one  from  the  same  person. 
How  long  have  you  two  been  corresponding  in 
my  absence  and  without  my  permission?" 

Dorothy  turned  and  faced  him.  Her  face 
was  full  of  vivid  colour,  but  her  eyes  were  daring. 
"Since  August." 

"Hm!  Does  he  write  entertaining  letters?" 

"Very." 

"Gives  you  a  full  report  of  his  operations, 
I  suppose,  with  a  dip  into  the  early  history  of 
the  country  and  the  result  of  his  researches 
into  the  Spanish  settlement." 

"Yes,  indeed." 

"Ever  touch  on  anything  personal? — ^mu- 
tually personal,  I  mean,  of  course." 

"Never." 

Julius  scanned  her  face.  "He  writes  me," 
said  he,  "that  instead  of  staying  only  six 
months  it's  likely  to  be  a  year  before  he  can 
come  North.  The  Company  who  picked  him 
to  go  down  and  put  this  thing  through  has 


270  THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE 

decided  to  make  a  much  bigger  thing  of  it 
than  was  at  first  intended.  Too  bad,  eh? 
Fine  for  him;  but  a  year's  quite  a  stretch  for 
a  chap  who,  as  I  recall  it,  went  away  with  some 
reluctance — ^just  at  the  last.'* 

Dorothy  met  his  intent  eyes  without  flinch- 
ing. "He  is  so  interested  in  his  work  I  diould 
say  it  was  not  too  bad  at  all,"  she  responded. 

She  then  was  allowed  to  make  her  escape, 
while  Julius  went  back  downstairs,  smiling  to 
himself.    "That  shot  told,"  he  exulted. 

In  her  room  Dorothy  opened  her  letter.  If 
Julius's  news  were  true  she  would  soon  know  it. 
Out  of  the  envelope  fell  a  small  packet  of 
photographs,  but  it  was  not  their  presence 
alone  which  had  made  it  so  bulky.  The  letter 
itself  was  three  times  as  long  as  her  brother's. 

Dorothy  eagerly  examined  the  photographs 
which  had  fallen  out  of  Kirke  Waldron's  letter. 
They  had  been  taken  all  about  his  camp  in 
Colombia  and  the  surrounding  country,  pictur- 


THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE  271 

ing  the  progress  that  had  been  made  in  the 
development  of  the  mines.  In  one  or  two  of  the 
pictures,  showing  groups  of  native  workmen,  she 
made  out  Waldron's  figure,  usually  presenting 
him  engaged  in  conversation,  his  back  tiuned  to 
the  lens.  But  one  picture  had  been  taken  in  front 
of  his  own  shack  with  its  palm-leaf  thatching. 
He  was  standing  by  the  door,  leaning  against  the 
lintel,  dressed  in  his  working  clothes,  pipe  in 
hand,  looking  straightforwardly  out  of  the  pic- 
ture at  her  and  smiling  a  little.  The  figure  was 
that  of  a  strong,  well-built,  outdoors  man,  the 
face  full  of  character  and  purpose,  lighted  by 
himiour.  The  steady  eyes  seemed  very  intent 
upon  her,  and  it  was  a  little  difficult  for  her 
to  remind  herself  that  it  was  undoubtedly  his 
fdlow  engineer  and  friend,  Hackett,  at  whom  he 
was  gazing  with  so  much  friendliness  of  aspect 
rather  than  at  her  far-away  self. 

The  letter,  however,  toward  its  close  set  her 
right  upon  this  point.    He  had  told  her  of  his 


272  THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE 

decision  to  stay  and  see  the  full  development  of 
the  mine  through,  in  spite  of  the  wrench  it  cost 
him  to  think  of  remaining  a  year  without  a 
break.  Then,  going  on  to  describe  the  taking 
of  the  photograph,  he  had  written: 

The  Company  is  very  glad  to  get  as  much  as  we  can 
send  it  of  actual  illustration  of  our  labours,  so  we  make 
it  a  point  to  snap  these  scenes  from  time  to  time.  There 
is  one  picture,  however,  which  was  not  taken  for  the 
Company.  Hackett  asked  me  to  hold  the  lens  on  him 
for  a  shot  to  send  to  somebody  up  North  there,  so  he 
went  inside  and  freshened  up  a  bit  and  came  out  grin- 
ning. I  grinned  back  as  I  took  the  picture,  and  said 
I  was  glad  to  see  him  so  cheerful.  He  replied  that  the 
smile  was  not  for  me — that  though  he  had  apparently 
looked  at  me  he  had  really  been  looking  through  me  at 
a  person  about  as  different  from  myself  as  I  could  well 
imagine.      ''  i>J:^».3«  2^*{0  -/basj^ 

■^  It's  a  poor  rule  that  doesn't  work  both  ways,  so  I 
then  took  my  place  by  the  door  of  our  palatial  residence, 
and  gazed — apparently — at  Hackett's  Indian-red  vis- 
age. I  found  it  entirely  possible  to  forget,  as  he  had 
done,  the  chap  before  me,  and  see  instead — well — look 
at  the  picture!  And  please  don't  let  those  lashes  drop 
too  soon.    When  I  imagme  them  they  always  do! 

It  was  thus  that  the  correspondence  went 
on.    Dorothy  never  replied  directly  to  such 


THE  TIME  OF  fflS  LIFE  273 

paragraphs  as  these,  but  she  did  send  him,  a 
few  weeks  after  the  arrival  of  the  Colombian 
photographs,  a  little  snapshot  of  herself  taken 
in  winter  costume  as  she  was  coming  down  the 
steps  of  her  home.  It  was  an  exquisite  bit  of 
portraiture,  even  though  of  small  proportions, 
and  it  called  forth  the  most  daring  response  he 
had  yet  made: 

I  know  you  wouldn't  want  it  pinned  up  in  the  shack, 
and  it's  much  too  valuable  to  risk  leaving  it  among  my 
other  possessions  there.  So  I  cany  it  about  in  an  old 
leather  letter  case  in  my  pocket.  I  hope  you  don't 
mind.  I'm  a  little  afraid  of  wearing  it  out,  so  I've  con- 
structed a  sort  of  a  frame  for  it,  out  of  a  heavy  linen 
envelope,  which  will  bear  handling  better  than  the 
litde  picture.  .  .  .  You  are  looking  straight  out 
at  me — at  me  ?  I  wish  I  knew  it!  Won't  you  tell 
me — Dorothy?  You  can  trust  me — can't  you?  There 
are  some  things  which  can't  be  said  at  long  distance; 
they  must  wait.  I  get  to  feeling  like  a  storage  battery 
sometimes — overcharged!  Meanwhile,  trust  me — 
Dorothy! 

But  she  woidd  send  him  only  this: 

Of  course  I  was  looking  at  you.  Why  not?  It's 
only  courtesy  to  recognize  the  salutation  of  a  gentle- 


274  THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE 

man  disguised  in  working  clothes,  standing  in  the  dooi 
ci  a  queer-looking  South  American  residence.  Be^ 
sides — he  looks  rather  well,  I  think! 


One  April  evening  Mr.  Julius  Broughton^ 
sitting  comfortably  in  his  room  in  a  certain 
well-known  building  at  a  well-known  university, 
was  summoned  to  telephone.  Bringing  his  feet 
to  the  floor  with  a  thump,  flinging  aside  his 
book  and  pufl&ng  away  at  his  pipe,  he  lounged 
unwillingly  to  the  telephone  box.  The  follow- 
ing conversation  ensued,  causing  a  sudden  and 
distinct  change  in  the  appearance  of  the  young 
man. 

"Broughton,"  he  acknowledged  the  call. 

"  Broughton?  This  is  Waldron— Kirke  Wal^ 
dron." 

"Who?" 

"  Waldron ;  up  from  Colombia,  South  America. 
Forgotten  me?  " 

"What!  Forgotten  you!  I  say — ^when  did 
you  come?    Where  are  you?    Will  you " 


THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE  275 

The  distant  voice  cut  in  sharply:  "Hold 
on.  IVe  just  about  one  minute  to  spend 
talking.  Can  you  come  downtown  to  the 
Warrington  Street  Station?  If  you'll  be  there 
at  ten,  sharp,  imder  the  south-side  clock,  I 
can  see  you  for  ten  minutes  before  I  leave  for 
the  train.  I  want  to  see  you  very  much. 
Explain  everything  then." 

"Of  course  I'll  come;  delighted!  Be  right 
down.    But  aren't  you  going  to " 

"I'll  explain  later,"  said  Waldron's  decisive 
voice  again.  "Sorry  to  ring  off  now.  Good- 
bye." 

"Well,  great  George  Washington!"  mur- 
mured Julius  to  himself  as  he  replaced  the 
receiver  on  the  hook  and  reinserted  his  pipe  in 
his  mouth,  to  emit  immediately  thereafter  a 
mighty  puff  of  smoke.  "I  knew  the  fellow  was 
a  hustler,  but  I  should  suppose  that  when  he 
comes  up  from  South  America  to  telephone  he 
might  spend  sixty  or  seventy  seconds  at  itr 


276  THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE 

Must  be  a  sudden  move;  no  hint  of  it  in  his 
last  letter." 

He  consulted  his  watch.  He  would  have  to 
emulate  Waldron's  haste  if  he  reached  the 
Warrington  Street  Station  by  ten  o'clock.  He 
made  a  number  of  rapid  moves,  resulting  in  his 
catching  a  through  car  which  bore  him  down- 
town at  express  speed  and  landed  him  in  the 
big  station  at  a  minute  before  ten.  Hurrying 
through  the  crowd  he  came  suddenly  face  to 
face  with  the  man  he  sought. 

Tanned  to  a  seasoned  brown,  and  looking  as 
vigorous  as  a  lusty  pine  tree,  Waldron  shook 
hands  warmly. 

But  before  Julius  had  more  than  begun  his 
expressions  of  pleasure  at  seeing  his  friend  again 
so  imexpectedly  Waldron  timied  and  indicated 
a  young  man's  figure  in  a  wheelchair.  "That's 
my  friend  and  associate  engineer,  Hackett, 
over  there.  He's  had  a  very  bad  illness  and 
I'm  taking  him  home.    We'll  go  over  and  speak 


THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE  277 

to  him  in  a  minute.  Meanwhile,  I  shall  have 
to  talk  fast.  First — is  your  sister  Dorothy 
well?"  The  direct  gaze  had  in  it  no  apology 
for  speaking  thus  abruptly. 

"Fine,"  Julius  assiured  him.    "Haven't  you 
heard  from  her  lately?" 

"Not  since  I  sailed — ^naturally — ^nor  for  a 
fortnight  before  that.  I  came  away  very  un- 
expectedly, sooner  than  I  should  have  done 
but  for  Hackett,  who  needed  to  get  home.  But 
the  trip  combines  that  errand  with  a  lot  of 
business — seeing  the  Company  directors,  con- 
sulting with  the  firm,  looking  up  machinery  and 
getting  it  shipped  back  with  me  on  the  next  boat. 
I  haven't  an  hour  to  spare  anywhere  but  on  this 
flying  trip  to  Hackett's  home,  which  will  take 
twenty-folu*  hours,  and  I  shall  have  to  work 
night  and  day.    And — I  want  to  see  your  sister." 

Again  the  direct  look,  accompanied  this  time 

by  a  smile  which  was  like  a  sudden  flash  of 

'  sunshine,  as  Julius  well  remembered.    Waldron 


278  THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE 

did  not  smile  too  often,  but  when  he  did  smile — 
well,  one  wanted  to  do  what  he  asked. 

"Does  she  know?"  Julius  demanded. 

"Not  a  word;  there  was  no  way  to  let  her 
know  except  to  cable,  and  I — ^have  no  right  to 
send  her  cable  orders — or  requests.  Broughton, 
as  I  figure  it  out,  I  have  just  one  chance  to  see 
her,  and  that  only  with  your  cooperation — 
and  hers.  I  don't  believe  I  need  explain  to  you 
that  it  seems  to  me  I  must  see  her;  going  back 
without  it  is  imthinkable.  I  don't  know  when 
I  may  be  North  again.  Yet  I  can't  neglect 
Hackett  or  my  duty  to  the  Company." 

"Then— how  the  dickens " 

"I  shall  be  coming  back  on  the  train  that 
reaches  this  station  at  two  o'clock  Saturday 
morning.  It  will  go  through  your  home  city 
at  midnight.  Would  it  be  possible  for  you  and 
Miss  Dorothy  to  take  that  train  when  it  leaves 
Boston  Friday  night,  and  so  give  me  the  time 
between  there  and  your  station?" 


THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE  279 

Julius  Broughton,  bom  plotter  and  situation 
maker  as  he  was,  rose  to  the  occasion  gallantly. 
It  tickled  him  immensely,  the  whole  idea.  He 
spent  five  seconds  in  consideration,  his  eye 
fixed  on  the  lapel  of  Waldron's  coat;  then  he 
spoke: 

"Leave  it  to  me.  ITl  have  to  figure  it  out 
how  to  get  around  Dot.  You  mustn't  think 
she's  going  to  jump  at  the  chance  of  going  to 
meet  a  man  instead  of  having  him  come  to 
meet  her.  She's  used  to  having  the  men  do  the 
travelling,  you  know,  while  she  stays  at  home 
and  forgets  they're  coming." 

"I  know.  And  you  know — and  I  think  she 
knows  also — that  only  necessity  would  make 
me  venture  to  ask  such  a  favour." 

"I  may  have  to  scheme  a  bit " 

"No,  please  don't.  I  prefer  not  to  spend  the 
time  between  stations  explaining  the  scheming 
and  apologizing  for  it.  Put  it  to  her  frankly, 
letting  her  understand  the  situation " 


28o  THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE 

Julius  shook  his  head.  "She's  not  used  to 
it.  She'll  find  it  hard  to  understand  why  you 
couldn't  stop  off  and  get  out  to  our  place,  if 
only  for  an  hour." 

"Then  show  her  this." 

Waldron  took  from  his  breast  pocket  a  card, 
on  which,  in  very  small,  close  writing  and 
figures,  was  a  concise  schedule  of  his  engage- 
ments for  the  coming  five  days,  and,  as  he  had 
said,  nights. 

Julius  scanned  it,  and  whistled  softly  a  bar 
from  a  popular  song,  "Now  Do  You  See?" 
"Do  eating  and  sleeping  happen  to  come  in  on 
this  anywhere?"  he  queried  gently. 

"On  the  run.    It's  this  trip  up  into  New 
Hampshire  that's  crowding  things;  otherwise,  I 
might  have  managed  it  very  well." 
;.  "  Couldn't  anybody  else  have  seen  Mr. — 
Hackett  home?"  asked  Julius. 

"No."  Waldron's  tone  settled  that  and  left 
no  room  for  dispute.    "There  are  some  things 


THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE  281 

that  can't  be  done,  you  know,  and  that's  one 
of  them."  He  glanced  at  the  great  clock  over 
his  head.    "Come  over  and  meet  him." 

Julius  went. 

A  long,  thin  figure,  wrapped  in  an  ulster, 
reached  out  a  hand,  and  a  determinedly  cheer- 
ful voice  said,  with  an  evident  ^ort  not  to 
show  the  severe  fatigue  the  journey  was  costing 
the  convalescent:  "Think  of  me  as  Sackett  or 
Jackett  or  something.  I'm  no  Haciett;  they're 
a  huskier  lot." 

"As  you  wiU  be  soon,  of  course,"  Julius 
broke  in  confidently. 

"  Colombia  air  is  pretty  fine,  but  New  Hamp- 
shire air  is  better — for  old  New  Hampshire 
boys,"  asserted  Waldron.  He  nodded  at 
a  red-capped  porter  waiting  near,  and  laid  a 
hand  on  his  friend's  shoulder.  "This  chap  is 
going  to  be  all  right  when  he  gets  where  a 
certain  little  mother  can  look  after  him. 
Mothers  and  blood  poisoning  dcm't  assimilate 


282  THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE 

a  bit.  And  now  we  have  to  be  off,  for  I  want  to 
get  my  patient  settled  in  his  berth  before  the 
train  pulls  out,  and  it's  going  to  be  called  in 
about  thirty  seconds." 

He  turned  aside  for  a  final  word  with  Julius. 
"I'm  not  asking  too  much?" 

"Do  you  think  you  are?" 

The  two  pairs  of  eyes  searched  each  other. 

"I  know  Miss  Dorothy  is  an  orphan;  I  know, 
too,  that  you  are  her  only  brother.  You  imder- 
stand  that  I  mean  to  ask  her  to  marry  me,  if 
I  can  have  the  chance.  I  couldn't  do  it — on 
paper.  If  you  approve  the  match — and  I 
think  you  do  or  you  wouldn't  have  planned 
quite  so  cleverly  last  July " 

"What?" 

"You  brought  about  that  meeting,  you 
know,"  said  Waldron,  smiling,  with  such  a 
penetrating  look  that  Julius  felt  it  go  past  all 
defenses. 

"How  do  you  know  I  did?" 


THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE  283 

"By  a  certain  peculiar  twist  to  your  left 
^ebrow  whwi  that  train  came  in  from  the 
wrong  direction.  You  forget  that  I  went  to 
school  with  you.  I  have  seen  that  twist  be- 
fore; it  meant  only  one  thing." 

"Well,  I'll  be — see  here,  it  was  after  dark 
when  that  train " 

"The  hotel  hand  had  a  lantern.  You  im- 
wisely  allowed  its  rays  to  strike  your  face." 

Julius  burst  into  a  smothered  laugh.  "Well, 
you're  a  good  one!" 

"I'm  glad  you  think  so — since  I'm  asking  of 
you  this  thing  you  so  dislike  to  doJ" 

"I  don't  dislike  it;  I'm  delighted  to  have 
the  chance.  I'U  have  her  on  that  train  if  I 
have  to  blindfold  her." 

"Don't  do  that.    Show  her  the  card." 

The  two  shook  hands  with  a  strong  grip  of 
affection  and  understanding.  Then  Waldron, 
wheeling  the  chair  himself,  took  his  friend 
Hackett  away  as  carefully  as  if  he  were  c<m- 


284  THE  TIME  OF  fflS  LIFE 

voying  a  baby.  Julius,  after  seeing  the  party 
through  the  gates,  went  back  to  his  college 
rooms,  his  wits  busy  with  the  task  which  so 
took  hold  of  his  fancy. 

Julius  would  have  enjoyed  scheming  involv- 
edly,  but  Waldron  had  been  too  peremptory 
about  that  to  allow  of  a  particle  of  intrigue. 
So,  before  he  slept,  he  sent  his  sister  a  special- 
delivery  letter  knowing  she  would  receive  it 
in  the  morning.  It  stated,  after  describing 
the  situation  to  her  (with  a  few  private  and 
characteristic  touches  of  his  own) ,  that  he  would 
call  her  up  by  telephone  to  receive  her  reply, 
and  that  he  would  go  through  the  city  on  a 
certain  afternoon  train  on  which  she  was  to 
join  him.  This  plan  would  give  the  pair  time 
for  a  leisurely  dinner  in  Boston  before  meeting 
Waldron  upon  the  ten  o'clock  train. 

When  he  had  Dorothy  on  the  wire  next  morn- 
ing he  was  not  surprised  that  her  first  words 
were  these: 


THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE  285 

"Julius — is  it  surely  Julius?  Well — I  don*t 
see  how  I  can  go!" 

"Why  not?  Got  the  mumps — or  any  other 
disfiguring  complaint?  " 

"Mercy,  no!  But — it  can't  be  that  it  is 
necessary!    He — ^he  certainly  could " 

"Did  you  read  that  schedule?" 

Julius's  voice  had  in  it  a  commanding,  no- 
compromise  quality.  He  knew  that  this  fem- 
inine evasiveness  was  probably  inevitable;  they 
were  made  that  way,  these  girls;  but  he  did  not 
intend  to  let  the  time  limit  of  an  expensive 
long-distance  call  be  exceeded  by  mere  nonsense. 

"  Ye-es,  but " 

"Now  listen.  We've  got  three  minutes  to 
talk;  we've  used  thirty  seconds  already  saying 
nothing.  I'm  going  to  be  on  that  train.  I'm 
going  to  have  that  little  trip  with  Kirke,  and 
if  you  don't  have  it,  it  wiU  be  pure  foolishness; 
and  you'U  cry  your  eyes  out  afterward  to  think 
you  didn't.    He  can't  get  to  you;  if  he  could 


286  THE  TIME  OF  fflS  LIFE 

he'd  do  it;  you  must  know  him  well  enough  for 
that  if  you've  been  hearing  from  him  all  these 
months.    Now — will  you  be  there?" 

"Juhus!  I'm  afraid  I " 

"Will  you  be  there?" 

"Why — don't  you  think  I — ^perhaps  I  ought 
to  have  Bud " 

"No,  I  don't.  I'm  all  the  chapercwi  you'll 
need  for  this  affair.  If  you  go  and  get  another 
woman  mixed  up  with  it  you'll  lose  half  of 
your  fun,  for  she'll  be  sure  to  forget  she's  the 
chaperon — ^you  know  Bud — and  first  you  know 
you'll  be  chaperoning  her.  See?  Will  you  be 
at  the  station?  I'm  going  to  hang  up  now  in 
just  fifteen  seconds!" 

"Oh,  Jul^-wait!— I " 

"  AU  right !  I'll  telephone  down  for  the  seats. 
Good-bye!" 

He  was  on  the  vestibuled  platform  of  his  car 
to  meet  her  when  his  train  passed  the  home 
city  from  whose  suburbs  she  had  come  in. 


THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE  987 

His  eager  eye  fell  delightedly  on  the  trimly 
modish  figure  his  sister  presented;  he  would  be 
proud  to  take  her  back  into  his  car.  He  knew 
just  how  two  or  three  sleepy  fellows  of  his  own 
age,  in  chairs  near  his  own,  would  sit  up  when 
they  saw  him  return  with  this  radiant  girl. 
Dot  certainly  knew  how  to  get  herself  up,  he 
reflected,  as  he  had  often  done  before. 

It  was  April  and  it  was  "raining  cats  and 
dogs"  as  Dorothy  came  aboard,  but  the  blue 
rainproof  serge  of  her  beautifully  fitting  suit 
was  little  the  worse  therefor,  and  the  close 
little  black  hat  with  the  fetching  feather  was 
one  to  defy  the  elements,  be  they  never  so 
wildly  springlike. 

"You're  a  good  sport!"  was  Julius's  low- 
pitched  greeting  as  he  kissed  her,  the  tail  of 
his  eye  on  one  of  his  yoimg  fellow-passengers 
who  had  followed  him  to  the  platform  for  a 
breath  of  fresh  air  and  stood  with  his  hands  m 
his  pockets  staring  at  the  pretty  girl  close  by. 


288  THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE 

"I  feel  like  a  buccaneer — or  a  pirate — or 
something  very  bold  and  wild  and  advent- 
urous, "  she  returned. 
"You  don't  look  it — except  in  your  eye.  I 
think  I  do  see  there  the  gleam  of  a  desperate 
resolve."  He  bent  over  her  devotedly  as  he 
put  her  in  her  chair,  noting  the  effect  on  the 
young  gentlemen  who  had  been  too  slothful 
to  leave  the  car,  but  who  now,  as  he  had  pre- 
dicted to  himself,  were  "sitting  up,"  both 
physically  and  mentally,  as  they  covertly  eyed 
his  new  travelling  companion.  "I  admit  it 
takes  courage  for  a  New  England  girl  to  start 
out  to  meet  a  barbarian  from  the  wilds  of 
South  America,  unchaperoned  except  by  a 
perfectly  good  brother." 

"If  I  could  be  sure  the  brother  would  be 

perfectly  good "  she  suggested,  smiling  at 

him  as  she  slightly  altered  the  position  of  her 
chair  so  that  the  attentive  feUow-travellers 
were  moved  out  of  her  line  of  vision. 


THE  TIME  OF  mS  LIFE  289 

"I'm  sworn  to  rigorous  virtue,"  he  replied 
solemnly.    "He  attended  to  that  for  you." 

Dorothy  looked  out  of  the  window.  She 
looked  out  of  the  window  most  of  the  way  to 
Boston,  so  that  the  interested  youths  opposite 
were  able  to  enjoy  only  the  averted  line  of  her 
profile. 

Juhus,  however,  took  dehght  in  plajdng  the 
lover  for  their  benefit,  and  his  attention  to  his 
sister  would  have  deceived  the  elect.  The 
result  was  a  considerably  heightened  colour  in 
Dot's  face,  which  added  the  last  touch  of  charm 
to  the  picture  and  completed  her  brother's 
satisfaction. 

Arrived  in  the  city  Broughton,  '13,  treated  his 
sister  to  a  delicious  Httle  dinner  at  a  favourite 
hotel,  which  he  himself  rehshed  to  the  full. 
He  questioned  whether  she  knew  what  she  was 
eating  or  its  quality,  but  she  maintained  an 
appearance  of  composure  which  only  herself 
knew  was  attained  at  a  cost. 


29©  THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE 

He  then  escorted  her  to  a  florist's  and  himself 
insisted  upon  pinning  upon  the  blue  serge  coat 
a  gorgeous  corsage  knot  of  deep-hued  red  roses 
and  mignonette,  which  added  to  her  quiet 
costimie  the  one  brilliant  note  that  was  needed 
to  bring  out  her  beauty  as  his  artistic  yoimg 
eye  approved. 

She  protested  in  vain.  "I  don't  want  to 
wear  flowers — ^to-night,  my  dear  boy." 

"Why  not?  There's  nothing  conspicuous 
about  that,  these  days.  More  conspicuous  not 
to,  you  might  say.    You  often  do  it  yourself.'* 

"I  know,  but— to-night!" 

"He  won't  know  what  you  have  on.  He's 
slightly  delirious  at  this  very  minute,  I  have 
no  doubt  at  all.  When  he  sees  you  he'U  go 
off  his  head.  Oh,  nobody'll  know  it  to  look 
at  him;  you  needn't  be  afraid  of  that." 

"Please  stop  talking  about  it,"  commanded 
his  sister.  But  she  did  not  refuse  to  wear  the 
red  roses.    No  sane  young  woman  could  after 


THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE  291 

having  caught  a  glimpse  of  herself  in  the  florist's 
mirror.  Even  an  indifferent  shopgirl  stared  witn 
interest  after  the  pair  as  they  left  the  place, 
wondering  if,  after  all,  flowers  weren't  more 
effective  on  the  quiet  swells  than  on  those  of 
the  dashing  attire. 

"We're  to  meet  him  on  the  train,  not  in  the 
station,"  Julius  observed,  as  he  hurried  his 
sister  across  the  great  concourse.  "He  has 
to  make  rather  a  close  connection.  So  we'll 
be  in  our  seats  when  he  arrives.  Or,  better 
yet,  we'll  get  back  on  the  observation  platfoynn 
and  see  him  when  he  comes  out  the  gates. 
That'll  give  you  the  advantage  of  the  first 
look!" 

Their  car,  it  turned  out,  was  the  end  one  and 
their  seats  at  the  rear  end,  as  Julius  had  tried 
to  arrange  but  had  not  been  sure  of  accomplish- 
ing. Dorothy  followed  him  through  the  car 
and  out  upon  the  platform.  Here  the  two 
watched  the  crowds  hurrying  through  the  gates 


292  '  THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE 

toward  their  own  and  other  trains,  while  the 
minutes  passed.  Julius,  watch  in  hand,  began 
to  show  signs  of  anxiety. 

"He'd  better  be  showing  up  soon,"  he  an- 
nounced as  the  stream  of  oncoming  passengers 

began  to  thin.    "  It's  getting  pretty  close  to 

There  he  is  though!  Good  work.  Come  on, 
old  fellow,  don't  be  so  leisurely!  By  George, 
that's  not  Kirke  after  aU!  Those  Moulders — 
I  thought  it  certainly  was.  But  he'll  come — 
oh,  he'U  come  all  right  or  break  a  leg  trying!" 

But  he  did  not  come.  The  last  belated 
traveller  dashed  through  the  gates,  the  last 
signal  was  given,  the  train  began  very  slowly 
to  move. 

"He's  missed  the  connection,"  said  Julius 
solemnly.  "But  we'll  hear  from  him  at  the 
first  stop;  certainly  we'll  hear  from  him.  We'll 
go  inside  the  car  and  be  prepared  to  answer 
up." 

But  neither  at  the  first  stop  nor  the  second 


THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE  293 

did  the  porter  appear  with  a  message  for  Mr. 
Broughton  or  for  Miss  Broughton,  or  for  any- 
body  whomsoever. 

Dorothy  sat  quietly  looking  out  of  the  window 
into  the  darkness,  her  cheek  supported  by  her 
hand  and  shaded  from  her  brother.  She  was 
perfectly  cheerful  and  composed,  but  Julius 
guessed  rightly  enough  that  it  was  not  a  happy 
hour  for  her.  She  had  come  more  than  half- 
way to  meet  a  man  who  had  asked  it  of  her, 
only  to  have  him  fail  to  appear.  Of  course 
there  was  an  explanation — of  course;  but — 
well,  it  was  not  a  happy  hoiu:.  The  red  roses 
on  her  breast  drooped  a  very  little;  their 
counterparts  in  her  cheeks  paled  slowly  as  the 
train  flew  on.    An  hour  went  by. 

Some  miles  after  stopping  at  a  station  the 
train  slowed  down  again. 

"Where  are  we?"  queried  Julius,  peering  out 
of  the  window,  his  hand  shading  his  eyes. 
"Nowhere  in  particular,  I  should  say.'* 


894  THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE 

The  train  stopped,  began  to  move  again, 
backing;  it  presently  became  apparent  that  it 
was  taking  a  siding. 

"That's  funny  for  this  train,"  said  JuKus, 
and  went  out  on  the  rear  platform  to  investigate. 

In  a  minute  or  two  another  train  appeared 
in  the  distance  behind,  rushed  on  toward  them, 
slowed  down  not  quite  to  a  stop,  and  was 
instantly  under  way  again.  A  minute  later 
their  own  train  began  to  move  once  more. 

"Perhaps  he's  chartered  a  special  and  caught 
up, "  said  Julius,  returning  to  his  sister.  "Per- 
haps he's  made  so  much  money  down  in  Colom- 
bia that  he  can  afford  to  hire  specials.  That 
was  a  special,  all  right — ^big  engine  and  one 
Pullman.  We  wouldn't  be  sidetracked  for 
anything  less  important,  I'm  quite  sure." 

He  stretched  himself  comfortably  in  his  chair 
again  with  a  furtive  glance  at  his  sister.  He  sat 
with  his  back  to  the  car,  facing  her.  He  now 
saw  her  look  down  the  car  with  an  intent 


THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE  295 

expression;  then  suddenly  he  saw  the  splendid 
colour  surge  into  her  face.  Her  eyes  took  fire 
' — and  Juhus  swung  about  in  his  chair  to  find 
out  the  cause.  Then  he  sprang  up,  and  if  he 
did  not  shout  his  rehef  and  joy  it  was  because 
well-trained  young  men,  even  though  they  be 
not  yet  out  of  college,  do  not  give  vent  to  their 
emotions  in  public. 

"By  George!"  he  said  under  his  breath. 
"How  in  time  has  he  made  it?" 

But  Waldron,  as  he  came  back  through  the 
car,  was  not  looking  at  Juhus.  Dorothy  had 
risen  and  was  standing  by  her  chair,  and  though 
the  newly  arrived  traveller  shook  hands  with 
Julius  as  he  met  him  in  the  aisle,  it  was  only 
to  look  past  him  at  the  figure  at  the  back  of 
the  car.  The  next  instant  his  hand  had  grasp>ed 
hers,  and  he  was  gazing  as  straight  down  into 
her  eyes  as  a  man  may  who  has  seen  such  eyes 
for  the  last  nine  months  only  in  his  dreams. 

"You  came!"  he  said;  and  there  were  wonder 


396  THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE 

and  gratitude  and  joy  in  his  voice,  so  tliat  it 
was  not  qiiite  steady. 

She  nodded.  "There  seemed  to  be  nothing 
else  to  do,"  she  answered,  and  her  smile  was 
enchanting. 

"Did  you  want  to  do  anything  else?" 

There  must  certainly  have  been  something 
about  him  which  inspired  honesty.  Quite 
naturally,  frpm  the  feminine  point  of  view, 
Dorothy  would  have  liked  not  to  answer  this 
direct  and  meaning  question  just  then.  But, 
as  once  before,  the  necessity  o{  speaking  to  this 
man  only  the  truth  was  instantly  strong  upon 
her.  Deep  down,  evade  the  issue  as  she  might 
by  saying  that  she  would  have  preferred  to 
have  him  come  to  her,  she  knew  that  she  was 
glad  to  do  this  thing  for  him,  since  the  other 
had  been  impossible. 

So  she  lifted  her  eyes  for  an  instant  and  let 
him  see  her  answer  before  she  slowly  shook 
her  head,  while  the  quick  breath  she  could  not 


THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE  297 

wholly  control  stirred  the  red  roses  on  her 
breast. 

"  Now  see  here,  old  man, "  said  Julius  Brough- 
ton,  "I  know  the  time  is  short  and  all  that,  and 
I'm  going  to  spend  this  next  hour  in  the  smok- 
ing-room and  let  you  two  have  a  chance  to 
talk.  But  before  I  go  my  natural  curiosity 
must  be  satisfied  or  I  shall  burst.  Am  I  to 
understand  that  that  gilt-edged  special  that 
passed  us  just  now  brought  you  to  your  appoint- 
ment? And  are  you  King  of  Colombia  down 
there,  or  anything  Uke  that?" 

Waldron  turned,  laughing.  EGs  browned 
cheek  had  a  touch  of  a  still  warmer  colour  in  it, 
his  eyes  were  glowing. 

"That  certainly  was  wonderful  luck,"  said 
he.  "I  reached  the  gate  just  as  the  tail- 
lights  of  this  train  were  disappearing.  As  I 
turned  away  a  man  at  my  elbow  asked  if  I 
minded  missing  it.  I  said  I  minded  so  much 
that  if  I  could  afford  it  I  would  hire  a  special 


298  THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE 

to  catch  it.  He  said,  very  much  as  if  he  had 
been  offering  me  a  seat  in  his  motor,  that  a 
fecial  was  to  leave  in  a  few  minutes  and  that 
it  would  pass  this  train  somewhere  within  an 
hour.  He  turned  out  to  be  the  president  of 
the  road.  We  had  a  very  interesting  visit  on 
the  way  down — or  it  would  have  been  interest- 
ing if  it  had  happened  at  any  other  time.  I  was 
so  busy  keeping  an  eye  out  for  sidetracked 
trains  that  I  now  and  then  lost  the  nm  of  the 
conversation." 

"If  the  president  of  the  road  hadn^t  turned 
up,"  suggested  JuHus,  "would  you  mind  saying 
what  other  httle  expedient  would  have  occurred 
to  you?" 

"I  should  have  wired  you,  begging  you  to 
give  me  one  more  chance,"  admitted  Waldron. 
"I  should  have  wired  you  anyway,  if  I  hadn't 
felt  that  it  would  have  spoiled  my  dramatic 
entrance  at  some  siding.  And  I  wanted  all  the 
auxiharies  on  my  side." 


THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE  299 

Jiiliiis  went  away  into  the  smoking  compart- 
ment forward  with  a  sense  of  having  had  Fate 
for  the  second  time  take  a  hand  in  a  more  telling 
management  of  other  people's  affairs  than  even 
he,  with  all  his  love  of  pnUing  wires,  could 
effect.  He  looked  back  as  he  went,  to  see 
Waldron  taking  Dorothy  out  upon  the  obser- 
vation platform. 

"It's  lucky  it's  a  mild  April  night,"  he  said 
to  himself.  "I  suppose  it  wouldn't  make  any 
difference  if  a  northeast  blizzard  were  on." 

"Will  it  chill  the  roses?"  Waldron  asked 
mth  a  smile  as  he  closed  the  door  behind  them, 
shutting  himself  and  Dorothy  out  into  the 
cool,  wet  freshness  of  the  night,  where  the  two 
gleaming  raUs  were  slipping  fast  away  into  the 
blackness  behind  and  only  distant  Kghts  here 
and  there  betokened  the  existence  of  other 
human  beings  in  a  world  that  seemed  all  theirs. 

"  It  wouldn't  matter  if  it  did, "  she  answered. 

"Wouldn't  it?    Can  you  possibly  feel,  as  I 


joo  THE  TIME  OF  fflS  LIFE 

do,  that  nothing  in  the  world  matters,  now  that 
we  are  together  again?" 

Again  the  direct  question.  But  somehow 
she  did  not  in  the  least  mind  answering;  she 
wanted  to  answer.     The  time  was  so  short! 

With  other  men  Dorothy  Broughton  had 
used  every  feminine  art  of  evasion  and  with- 
drawal at  moments  of  crisis,  but  she  could  not 
use  them  with  this  man. 

She  shook  her  head,  laying  one  hand  against 
her  rose-red  cheek,  like  a  shy  and  lovely  child 
— ^yet  like  a  woman,  too. 

He  gently  took  the  hand  away  from  the 
glowing  cheek,  and  kept  it  fast  in  his. 

"I  fell  desperately  in  love  with  you  when  I 
was  fifteen,"  said  Kirke  Waldron.  "I  carried 
the  image  of  you  all  through  my  boyhood  and 
into  manhood.  I  saw  you  at  different  times 
while  you  were  growing  up,  although  you  didn't 
see  me.  I  kept  track  of  you.  I  thought  you 
never  could  be  for  me.    But  when  we  met  last 


THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE  301 

summer  I  knew  that  if  I  couldn't  have  you  I 
should  never  want  anybody.  And  when — ■ 
something  happened  that  made  you  glad  for 
just  a  minute  to  be  with  me,  I  knew  I  should 
never  let  you  go.  Then  you  gave  me  that 
last  look  and  I  dared  to  believe  that  you  could 
be  made  to  care.  Dorothy — ^they  were  pretty 
poor  letters  from  a  literary  point  of  view  that 
I've  been  sending  you  all  these  months,  but  I 
tried  to  put  myself  into  them  so  that  you  could 
know  just  what  sort  of  fellow  I  was.  And  I 
tried  to  make  you  see,  without  actually  telling 
you,  what  you  were  to  me.    Did  I  succeed?" 

"They  were  fine  letters,"  said  Dorothy 
Broughton.  "  Splendid,  manly  letters.  I  liked 
them  very  much.    I — Gloved  them!" 

"Oh!"  said  Kirke  Waldron,  and  became 
suddenly  silent  with  joy. 

After  a  minute  he  looked  up  at  the  too 
brilliant  electric  lights  which  flooded  the  plat- 
form.   He  glanced  in  at  the  occupants  of-  the 


3oa  THE  TIME  OF  HIS  LIFE 

car,  nearly  aU  facing  forward,  except  for  one 
or  two  who  were  palpably  asleq) — negligible 
certainly.  Then  he  put  his  head  inside  the 
door,  scanning  the  woodwork  beside  it.  He 
reached  upward  with  one  hand  and  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye  the  observation  platform 
was  in  darkness. 

"Oh!"  breathed  Dorothy  in  her  turn.  But 
the  next  thing  that  happened  was  the  thing 
which  might  have  been  expected  of  a  resource- 
ful young  mining  engineer,  trained,  as  he  him- 
self had  said,  "to  action — all  the  time!" 


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Fur  Biingers,  The.    By  Hulbert  Footner. 

Farther  Adventures  of  Jimmie  Dale.    By  Frank  E.  Packard 

Ge?  Your  Man.    By  Ethel  and  JTames  Dorrance. 

Girl  in  the  Mirror,  The.    By  Elizabeth  Jordan. 

Girl  of  O.  K.  Valley,  The.    By  Robert  Watson. 

Girl  of  tile  Blue  Ridee,  A.  By  Payne  Erskine. 

Girl  from  Keller's,  The    By  Harold  Bindloss. 

Girl  i^hllippa.  The.    By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Girls  at  His  Billet  The.    By  Berta  Ruck. 

Glory  Rides  the  Range.    By  Ethel  and  James  Borrance. 

Gloved  Hand,  The.    By  Burton  E.  Stevenson. 

God's  Country  and  the  Woman.    Bv  James  Oliver  Curwood. 

God's  Good  Man.    By  Marie  Corelli. 

Going  Some.    By  Rex  Beach. 

Gold  Girl,  The.    By  James  B.  Hendryx. 

Golden  Scorpion,  The.    By  Sax  Rohmer. 


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Golden  Slipper,  The.    By  Anna  Katharine  Green. 

Golden  Woman,  The.    By  Kidgwell  Cullum. 

Good  References.    By  E.  J.  Rath. 

Gorgeous  Girl,  The.    By  Nalbro  Bartley. 

Gray  Angels,  The.     By  Nalbro  Bartley. 

Great  Impersonation,  The.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Greater  Love  Hath  No  Man.    By  Frank  L.  Packard. 

Green  Eyes  of  Bast,  The,     By  Sax  Rohmer, 

Greyfriars  Bobby.     By  Eleanor  Atkinson. 

Gun  Brand,  The.    By  James  B.  Hendryx. 

Hand  of  Fu-Manchu,  The.    By  Sax  Rohmer. 

Happy  House.     By  Baroness  Von  Hutten. 

Harbor  Road,  The.     By  Sara  Ware  Bassett 

Havoc.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Heart  of  the  Desert,  The.    By  Honore  Willsie. 

Heart  of  the  Hills,  The.    By  John  Fox,  Jr. 

Heart  of  the  Sunset     By  Rex  Beach. 

Heart  of  Thunder  Mountain,  The.    By  Edfrid  A.  Bin^hau. 

Heart  of  Unaga,  The.    By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Hidden  Children,  The.     By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Hidden  Trails.    Bv  William  Patterson  White. 

Highflyers,  The.    By  Clarence  B.  Kelland. 

Hillman,  The.     By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Hills  of  Refuge,  The.    By  Will  N.  Harben. 

His  Last  Bow.     By  A.  Conan  Doyle. 

His  Official  Fiancee.    By  Berta  Ruck. 

Honor  of  the  Big  Snows.    By  James  Oliver  Curwood. 

Hopalong  Cassidy.     By  Clarence  E.  Mulford. 

Hound  from  the  North,  The.     By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 

House  of  the  Whispering  Pines,  The.     By  Anna  Katharine 

Green. 
Hugh  Wynne,  Free  Quaker.    By  S.  Weir  Mitchell,  M.D. 
Humoresque.     By  Fannie  Hurst. 

I  Conquered.    By  Harold  Titus. 
Illustrious  Prince,  The.     By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 
In  Another  Girl's  Shoes.     By  Berta  Ruck. 
Indifference  of  Juliet,  The.    By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 
Inez.    (IIL  Ed.)     By  Augusta  J.  Evans. 


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Infelice.    By  Augusta  Evans  Wilson. 

Initials  Only.    By  Anna  Katharine  Green. 

Inner  Law,  The.    By  Will  N.  Harben. 

Innocent.     By  Marie  Corelli. 

In  Red  and  Gold.    By  Samuel  Merwin. 

Insidious  Dr.  Fu-Manchu,  The.    By  Sax  Rohmer, 

In  tile  Brooding  Wild.    By  Ridgwell  CuUum. 

Intriguers,  The.     By  William  Le  Queux. 

Iron  Furrow,  The.    By  George  C.  Shedd. 

Iron  Trail,  The.    By  Rex  Beach. 

Ircii  Woman,  The.    By  Margaret  Dcland. 

IshmaeL  (111.)     By  Mrs.  Southworth. 

Island  of  Surprise.    By  Cyrus  Townsend  Brady. 

I  Spy.    By  Natalie  Sumner  Linclon. 

It  Pays  to  SmUe.     By  Nina  Wilcox  Putnam. 

I've  Married  Marjorie.    By  Margaret  Widdemer. 

Jean  of  the  Lazy  A.    By  B.  M.  Bower. 

Jeanne  of  the  llar?ne5.     P.y  E.  FhiUi'p3  Cppenheim. 

Jennie  Gerhardt.    By  Theodore  Dreiser. 

Johnny  Nelson.    By  Clarence  E.  Mulford. 

Judgment  House,  The.    By  Gilbert  Parker. 

Keeper  of  the  Door,  The.    By  Ethel  M.  Dell. 

Keith  of  the  Border.     By  Randall  Parrtsh. 

Kent  Knowles:  Quahaug.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Kingdom  of  the  Blind,  The.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheiro. 

King  Spruce.     By  Ho!man  Day. 

Knave  of  Diamonds,  The.    By  Ethel  M.  Dell. 

La  Chance  Mine  Mystery,  The,    By  S.  Carleton. 
Lady  Doc,  The.    By  Card-ne  Lockhart. 
LanJd-Girrs  Love  Stoiy.  A.    Bv  Berta  RurV. 
Land  cf  Stror?  T^rn,  TI:e.    Bv  /^  !.I.  Cliishoha. 
Last  Straw,  The.    By  Harold  Titus. 
Last  Trail,  The.    By  Zanc  ^rcy. 
Laughing  Bill  Hvde.    By  Rex  Beach. 
Lau^hinff  Girl,  The.    Bv  Robert  W  Charahet^ 
Law  Breakers,  The.    By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 
Law  of  the  Qan,  The.    By  Ridgwell  -Cullum. 


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Lcag:ue  of  the  Scarlet  PimpemeL    By  Baroness  Orczy. 

Lifted  Veil,  The.     By  Basil  King. 

Lighted  Way,  The.     By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Lin  McLean.    By  Owen  Wister. 

Little  Moment  of  Happiness,  The.    By  Clarence  Budington 

Kelland. 
Lion's  Mouse,  The.    By  C.  N.  &  A.  M.  Williamson. 
Lonesome  Land.    By  B.  M.  Bower. 
Lone  Wolf,  The.     By  Louis  Joseph  Vance. 
Lonely  Stronghold,  The.     By  Mrs.  Baillie  Reynolds. 
Long  Live  the  King.     By  Mary  Roberts  Rinehart. 
Lost  Ambassador.     By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 
Lost  Prince,  The.    By  Frances  Hodgson  Burnett. 
Lydia  of  the  Pines.     By  Honore  Willsie. 
Lynch  Lawyers.    By  William  Patterson  White. 

Macaria.    (111.  Ed.)    By  Augusta  J.  Evans. 

Maid  of  the  Forest,  The.    By  Randall  Parrish. 

Maid  of  Mirabelle,  The,    By  Eliot  H.  Robinson. 

Maid  of  the  Whispering  Hills,  The.    By  Vingie  E.  Roc 

Major,  The.    By  Ralph  Connor. 

Maker  of  History,  A.     By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Malefactor,  The.     By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Man  from  Bar  20,  The.     By  Clarence  E.  Mulford. 

Man  from  Bitter  Roots,  The.    By  Caroline  Lockhart. 

Man  from  Tall  Timber,  The.    By  Thomas  K.  Holmes. 

Man  Jn  the  Jury  Box,  The.    By  Robert  Orr  Chipperfield. 

Man-Killers,  The.    By  Dane  Coolidge. 

Man  Proposes.     By  Eliot  H.  Robinson,  author  of  "Smiles.* 

Man  Trail,  The.    By  Henry  Oyen. 

Man  Who  Couldn't  Sleep,  The.    By  Arthur  Stringer. 

Marquera3r*s  Duel.    By  Anthony  Pryde. 

Mary  'Gusta.     By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Mary  Wollaston.    By  Henry  Kitchell  Webster. 

Mason  of  Bar  X  Ranch.    By  E.  Bennett. 

Master  Christian,  The.    By  Marie  Corelli. 

Master  Mummer,  The.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Mei.ioirs  of  Sherlock  Holmes.     By  A.  Conan  Doyle. 

Men  Who  Wrought,  The.     By  Ridgwell   CuUura. 

Midnight  of  the  Ranges.    By  George  Gilbert. 


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Mischief  Maker,  The.     By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Missioner,  The.     By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Miss  Million's  Maid.    By  Berta  Ruck. 

Money  Master,  The.    By  Gilbert  Parker. 

Money  Moon,  The.    By  JefFery  Farnol. 

Moonlit  Way,  The.     By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 

More  Tish.    By  Mary  Roberts  Rinehart 

Mountain  Girl,  The.     By  Payne  Erskine. 

Mr.  Single.     By  Georgre  Barr  McCutcheon. 

Mr.  Grex  of  Monte  Carlo.    By  £.  Phillips  OppenheMi. 

Mr.  Pratt.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Mr.  Pratt's  Patients.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Mr.  Wu.    By  Louise  Jordan  Miln. 

Mrs.  Balfame.     By  Gertrude  Atherton. 

Mrs.  Red  Pepper.     By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 

My  Lady  of  the  North.    By  Randall  Parrish. 

My  Lady  of  the  Sonth.     By  Randall  Parrish, 

Mystery  of  the  Hasty  Arrow,  The.    By  Anna  K.  Green. 

Mystery  of  the  Silver  Dagger,  The.    By  Randall  Parrish. 

Mystery  of  the  13th  Floor,  The.    By  Lee  Thayer. 

Nameless  Man,  The.     By  Natalie  Sumner  Lincoln. 

Ne'er-Do- Well,  The.     By  Rex  Beach. 

Net,  The.     By  Rex  Beach. 

New  Clarion.     By  Will  N.  Harben. 

Night  Horseman,  The.    By  Max  Brand. 

Night  Operator,  The.    By  Frank  L.  Packard. 

Night  Riders,  The.    By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 

North  of  the  Law.    By  Samuel  Alexander  White. 

One  Way  Trail.  The,    By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Outlaw,  The.     By  Jackson  Gregory. 

Owner  of  the  Lazy  D,    By  William  Patterson  White. 

Painted  Meadows.    By  Sophie  Kerr. 

Pahnetto.     By  Stella  G.  S.  Perry. 

Paradise  Bend.    By  William  Patterson  White, 

Pardners.    By  Rex  Beach. 

Parrot  &  Co.     Bv  Harold  MacGrath. 

Partners  of  the  Night    By  Leroy  Scott. 


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Partners  of  the  Tide.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Passionate  Pilgrim,  The.    By  Samuel  Merwin. 

Patricia  Brent,  Spinster.     Anonymous. 

Patrol  of  the  Sim  Dance  Trail,  The.    By  Ralph  Connor. 

Paul  Anthony,  Christian.     By  Hiram  W.  Hayes. 

Pawns  Count,  The.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Peacemakers,  The.    By  Hiram  W.  Hayes. 

Peddler,  The.     By  Henry  C.  Rowland. 

People's  Man,  A.     By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Peter  Ruff  and  the  Double  Four.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Poor  Man's  Rock.     By  Bertrand  Sinclair. 

Poor  Wise  Man,  A.    By  Mary  Roberts  Rinehart. 

Portygee,  The.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Possession-     By  Olive  Wadsley. 

Postmaster,  The.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Prairie  Flowers.     By  James  B.  Hendryx. 

Prairie  Mother,  The.     By  Arthur  Stringer. 

Prairie  Wife,  The.     By  Arthur  Stringer. 

Pretender,  The.    By  Robert  W.  Service. 

Price  of  the  Prairie,  The.    By  Margaret  Hill  McCarter. 

Prince  of  Sinners,  A.    By  K  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Promise,  The.    By  J.  B.  Hendryx. 

Quest  of  the  Sacred  Slipper,  The.    By  Sax  Rohmer. 

Rainbow's  End,  The.    By  Rex  Beach. 
Rainbow  Valley.    By  L.  M.  Montgomery. 
Ranch  at  the  Wolverine,  The.    By  B.  M.  Bower. 
Ranching  for  Sylvia.    By  Harold  Bindloss. 
Ransom.     By  Arthur  Somers  Roche. 
Real  Life.     By  Henry  Kitchell  Webster. 
Reclaimers,  The.    By  Margaret  Hill  McCarter. 
Re-Creation  of  Brian  Kent,  The.    By  Harold  Bell  Wrifirht. 
Red  and  Black.    By  Grace  S.  Richmond- 
Red  Mist,  The.    By  Randall  Parrish. 
Red  Pepper  Bums.     By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 
Red  Pepper's  Patients.    By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 
Red  Seal,  The.     By  Natalie  Sumner  Lincoln. 
Rejuvenation  of  Aunt  Mary,  The.    By  Anne  Warner. 
Restiess  Sex,  The.    By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 


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Return  of  Dr.  Fu-Manchu,  The.     By  Sax  Rohmer. 
Return  of  Tarzan,  The.     By  Edgar  Rice  Burroughs. 
Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame,  The.     By  M.   E.  and  T.  W. 

Hanshew. 
Riddle  of  Night,  The.     By  Thomas  W.  Hanshew. 
Riddle  of  the  Purple  Emperor,  The.     By  T.  W.  and  M.  E. 

Hanshew. 
Rider  of  the  King  Log,  The.    By  Holman  Day. 
Rim  of  the  Desert,  The.    By  Ada  Woodruff  Anderson. 
Rise  of  Roscoe  Paine,  The.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 
Rising  Tide,  The.     By  Margaret  Deland. 
Rocks  of  Valpre,  The.    By  Ethel  M.  Dell. 
Room  Nimiber  3.     By  Anna  Katharine  Green. 
Rose  in  the  Ring,  The.    By  George  Barr  McCutcheon. 
Round  the  Comer  in  Gay  Street.    By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 

St.  Elmo.    (111.  Ed.)    By  Augusta  J.  Evans. 

Second  Choice.     By  Will  N.  Harben. 

Second  Latchkey,  The.    By  C.  N.  &  A.  M.  Williamson. 

Second  Violin,  The.     By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Secret  of  the  Reef,  The.     Harold  Bindloss. 

Secret  of  Sarek,  The.     By  Maurice  Leblanc. 

See-Saw,  The.     By  Sophie  Kerr. 

Self-Raised.     (IH.)     By  Mrs.  Southworth. 

Shavings.     By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Sheik,  The.    By  E.  M.  Hull. 

Shepherd  of  the  Hills,  The.    By  Harold  Bell  Wright. 

Sheriff  of  Dyke  Hole,  The.    By  Ridgwell  CuUum. 

Sheriff  of  Silver  Bow,  The.    By  Bcrton  Braley. 

Sherry.     By  George  Barr  McCutcheon. 

Side  of  the  Angels,  The.     By  Basil  King. 

Sight  Unseen  and  The  Confession.    By  Mary  Robert  Rinehart 

Silver  Horde,  The.     By  Rex  Beach. 

Sin  That  Was  His,  The.    By  Frank  L.  Packard. 

Sixty-first  Second,  The.     By  Owen  Johnson. 

Slayer  of  Souls,  The.    By  Robert  W.  Chambers 

Son  of  His  Father,  The.    By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Son  of  Tarzan,  Thet     By  Edgar  Rice  Burroughs. 

Speckled  Bird,  A.     By  Augusta  Evans  Wilson. 

Spirit  of  the  Border,  The.     (New  Edition.)     By  Zane  Grey. 


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